


Sam vs the Californian Summer

by TheSolarSurfer



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz, Chuck (TV)
Genre: A lot of desert, Action/Adventure, Angst, Autistic Character, California, Character with ADHD, Crossover, Depression, Desert, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Los Angeles, Mojave Desert, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, San Francisco, Triad - Freeform, Western, multiple POVs, probably going to be a lot of chapters, spy fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2018-03-03 18:21:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 81,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2860595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSolarSurfer/pseuds/TheSolarSurfer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's something to be said about San Francisco. It could be the beaches, the skyscrapers, the wonderful weather - or the Triad. Alex, having left MI6 almost a year ago, is unprepared when the past comes back to haunt him. Just when he's starting to settle into his old life, things start to get weird again with the arrival of the Bartowski girl. He's not quite sure what's going on, but there's certainly something strange going on in California. Things do not get better when a certain NSA/CIA team-up find out he's still alive.</p><p>EDIT (MARCH 2015): rewrote the plot, everything after chapter eleven or so is different. Not episodic anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

****

 

 

**Chapter One**

**Chuck Vs. The Newcomer**

 

            Chuck Bartowski was just an average guy with an average life. He got paid $12.50 an hour at the Burbank Buy More, and had a pretty girlfriend named Hannah, who was sweet with brown hair and green eyes. He had a loving sister and a brother-in-law who was the epitome of awesome. He worked at the Buy More with his best friend since Elementary school, a fact that made the boring life of a computer repair expert a little bit more interesting.

            To mundane eyes, Chuck had it pretty good.

            But Chuck Bartowski was also a spy for the CIA. He had a computer inside his brain that would activate with a Flash if he saw or heard anything related to government, spies, and terrorists. He had lived with this secret for three years now, and it wasn’t getting any easier.

            Chuck Bartowski also wasn’t a big fan of airports.

            There were a number of reasons for this, in no particular order: the traffic, Big Mike chewing him out for missing another shift of work, having to pull out the tooth of his NSA coworker Casey to cover his alias of Rafe, a professional and cold-blooded killer (which Chuck was not)...Chuck was not in a good mood that day, and expecting company was not making it any better.

            The call had been abrupt to say the least, but Chuck shouldn’t have been surprised. It seemed as though he lived in a family of spies, and that proved no different with Clarice Bartowski, or Aunt Clary as Chuck knew her. He had his suspicions after learning his father hid under the alias of Orion – was his mother a spy? His aunt and uncle? Surely not the Awesome family as well...

            Well, okay, not the Awesome family. Devon couldn’t lie his way out of a paper bag. Chuck sighed to himself and readjusted the sign he was carrying, with his cousin’s name on it. He had no idea what she would look like, so he hoped she could read her own name when boarding off the plane.

            Aunt Clary, an agent for the CIA, had remained dormant for the past ten years, until last week when General Beckman called for a mission in Budapest. Clary couldn’t very well leave her daughter to stay alone in Montana in a tiny cabin in the Rockies, so she of course sent her to California to live with her next of kin. As far as he knew, said kid had no idea her mom was a spy. That seemed to be common in this family.

            He waited patiently for the passengers to unload. Chuck doubted the Intersect would pick up on a teenage girl, so he took some pointers on profiling from Casey. If she’s wearing a thick coat or sweater with a bulge around the waist or under the arm, she probably has a gun. If she walks as though there is a rock in her shoe, she probably has a knife strapped to her ankle. If she’s carrying a briefcase or backpack, there’s probably a bomb or disassembled sniper inside.

            Chuck frowned to himself. Okay, maybe taking pointers from Casey was a bad idea.

            He was less concerned about his cousin being a spy so much as what he was going to say to Hannah when he got back. Life as a spy wasn’t one of convenience – he was lucky that the Buy More did home installations, because otherwise he’d be scrambling all the time for an excuse as to why he was never at work all the damn time. Each week there seemed to be a new problem he had to deal with. A problem that usually involved having a gun pointed at him.

            But Chuck realized he didn’t have to worry about having a family member mistakenly trying to kill him because they work for a different country – because he was pretty sure the girl he was looking at never left this one. She was easy to pick out amongst the men in tuxedos and families carting toddlers, a lone teenager amongst groups.

            He saw her hair first, then her shoes.

            Thick, curly bird’s nest that hadn’t seen a hairdresser in a couple years (maybe they were lacking such in the Rockies. Who knows?), looking unkempt as though she had spent most of the four hour flight sleeping. Then there were her lime green All Stars oxfords, an odd color for a shoe, and probably not very easy to find in Montana. The bright dye clashed with the rest of her clothing, relatively modest and worn, like jeans with ragged ends and a robust sweater that was a bit too small; stuff you’d expect a Montanan to own. Chuck tried to smile and not judge her taste in fashion at the same time.

            She spotted him instantly after emerging from the crowd of disembarking passengers. Her face lit up with a big, toothy grin across her freckled cheeks and Chuck saw the family resemblance, like a smaller version of her mother. A smaller, much less refined version, to be exact. She wasn’t carrying much, just a ratty carry-on that looked as though she used it to distract an angry bear while she ran the other way.

            She waved and said as she got closer, “You’re Chuck, right? My name is Samantha.”

            “Yeah, I know,” He said, finally allowing himself to drop the sign. “I’ve been carrying it for the past half hour.”

            Samantha blinked at him, her smile faltering, eyebrows quirking up. She seemed bewildered by what he said, apparently trying to decide what he meant through both his choice of words as well as tone. It was a look Chuck knew well, particularly amongst bad guys with a bad sense of humor. She didn’t have a good handle on sarcasm.

            Huh. A teenager who didn’t understand sarcasm. That had to be a first. Chuck had to assume it was a side effect of too much fresh mountain air and not enough cable TV. Morgan was going to love this! Well, after he explained his extended family – a highly confidential part of his life for reasons unknown until now.

            Chuck was going to offer to carry Samantha’s bag before she spotted something over his shoulder and gasped, “They have Cinnabons here!” and burst past Chuck while his hand was still out. The pastry stand had her completely enraptured, the cashier looking as bewildered as Chuck felt. Samantha had completely forgotten Chuck was even there.

            Chuck made a face and sighed to himself. “Nice to meet you, too.”  
  
            This was going to be a long day.


	2. Chuck vs. The Long Day

**Chapter Two**

**Chuck vs. The Long Day**

 

            Chuck had nothing personal against Samantha, or ‘Sam’ as she liked to be called. In fact, she said it three different times, apparently forgetting the last two in the span of ten minutes. She wandered from place to place, despite the numerous times he tried to get her outside and to the Nerd-mobile. It was as though she had never seen an airport before.

            When Chuck couldn’t move her from watching a fifteen minute take-off of a 747, he realized that maybe she hadn’t.

            He decided to let her look around for a while. While perusing a magazine rack filled with glossy paper and images of super-skinny people that only the rich could aspire to, Chuck tried fishing for information. “So, Sam, ever been outside of Montana?”

            “Nope,” Sam replied, not even looking up from the edition of _Teen Vogue_ she picked up. Not surprising, with the alluring high-gloss cover and the pretty actress on the cover, demonstrating this season’s latest trends – it was _designed_ to attract young eyes. But Sam didn’t seem pleased with what she found. “Hey, this is just filled with advertisements! Aren’t magazines supposed to have articles in them? You know, to read?”

            “Welcome to California,” Chuck said half-heartedly, leaning against the counter of the suitcase store. Sam flipped through another three magazines in under five minutes, apparently trying to absorb as much information about this new world of airports and shallow gossip rags could offer. This kid had a shorter attention span than Morgan, who Chuck knew could be persuaded using the Jedi Mind Trick. “Was it just you and your parents in Montana?”

            He wanted to know about her dad, since that subject never came up. Why couldn’t Sam just stay with _him_? Unless, of course, he was a spy, too. Sam didn’t fail to fill him in as she darted to a stand full of key chains and California state souvenirs, “Me and Mom, actually. Dad left when I was little. They both go on a lot of business trips.”

            MIA Dad, too? Well, something else that ran in the family. Chuck wasn’t sure to be relieved or disturbed that Aunt Clary had been able to cover her true vocation from her daughter, even after ten years. Did Samantha even question why she lived in isolation? “Yeah, mine too. You happy school’s over?”

            She only shook her head, her curly hair swinging back and forth like a tangled flag, running her finger though a line of key chains, observing the tinkling sound they made. “I’m homeschooled. Mom doesn’t really believe in breaks if she can help it. But I was really excited to come here. I’ve never seen the ocean before.”

            Ha, this was his moment of opportunity! “Well, if we leave now, you might get to see the sun set on the Pacific. How does that sound?”

            Sam gifted him with a wide grin, something that probably didn’t take much anyways. At least she seemed to have a good attitude, even if she couldn’t concentrate very well. Home-schooling Sam must’ve been hell for her mother. “Awesome! Let’s go!”

            _Like taking candy from a baby_ , Chuck smiled to himself, getting up and smoothing down his crisp white shirt. _Or, well, a teenager._

Chuck Bartowski was a man of refined elegance, or as refined as any Nerd Herder-turned-spy could be. Tall, dark, and handsome – the usual ingredients for a secret agent. Chuck could have been a regular James Bond if, you know, killing people didn’t freak him out so much. Shooting a gun made him nervous, so he usually let Sarah or Casey – who was a big supporter for the second amendment – to take care of capping bad guys.

            In fact, Chuck’s skills were much better utilized as a sort of computer analyst. His specialty was intelligence work, thanks to a degree from Stanford and five plus years at the Buy More. Chuck was practically an expert. And the Intersect didn’t slack off, either. It picked up on more terrorist threats in the Los Angeles County than anywhere else in the world. It could have been because the City of Angels was just a hotspot for evildoers, like New York City in _Marvel_ comics, but the more likely reason was that Chuck was just a natural magnet for danger.

            Chuck considered it an accomplishment to have finally managed to get Sam in the car. As he started the engine, he noticed that Sam was already fidgeting in her seatbelt, craning her neck to see as far out of the window as possible. If Chuck hadn’t known better, he would’ve thought she was memorizing all the different license plates in the parking lot.

            He tried getting a conversation started with several failed starts. Sam never took her gaze from the window and kept blurting out questions about a building or structure she didn’t recognize (which happened to be all of them). “What’s that?”

            “That’s the mall.”

            “And that one?”

            “Those are apartment buildings.”

            “Ooh, and those?”

            “They’re, um, Port-o-Johns.”

            “Cool,” Sam grinned, apparently having no idea what they actually did, perhaps only liking the sound of their name. She blinked a couple times, turning towards Chuck with an incredibly tense look in her eyes. “Is it true there are alligators in the sewage system?”

            “No!” That was the stuff of urban legend, something that people would talk about but few would listen to. Chuck realized just how clueless this kid was when he had to explain to her, in fine detail, how an alligator _could not_ survive underneath a city. “That’s just a stupid myth people talk about to freak out their friends. If an alligator _did_ get in there, they’d probably die from water contamination. Where did you hear that?”

            “Some kids were talking about it on the plane,” Sam shrugged, sitting back in her seat and looking out the windshield. She seemed disappointed with the revelation of a busted myth. “They live in California and they said they saw alligators all the time, crawling out of manholes and stuff. They sounded totally serious, too.”

            “How young were they?”

            “About five or six, I think.”

            “I don’t think a couple of little kids are experts on the subject, Sam,” Chuck told her in a strained tone. He wouldn’t believe it even if General Beckman told him. The fact that Sam ate this kind of stuff up meant that she probably spent her whole life in the mountains, put far too much trust into complete strangers. Could she really have no idea? “The only things that live in the sewers are rats.”

            “Are they mutant rats?” Sam sounded hopeful.

            “Nope, just your average, slimy brown rat.” Chuck said, jumping off the freeway and onto a busy street to avoid the rush hour. So it was the long way around to Burbank, but at least he could shave off an hour waiting in the gridlock. “Did they tell you anything else?”

            “No, they seemed pretty obsessed with alligators,” she told him, staring at the muscle car next to them as it shook the Nerd mobile with its incredible bass. The driver was tapping to the beat like it was just a regular jazz tune. “He must be deaf.”

            “If he isn’t, he will be,” Chuck said, the noise setting his teeth on edge. He couldn’t press the accelerator fast enough when the green light flicked on. It could have been the presence of the Intersect in his brain, but Chuck was quite sensitive to sound. Very loud situations could jumble his thought process and make it impossible to work efficiently. No wonder he felt so dazed on his first date with Sarah at the club. As if dealing with computer-stealing ninjas weren’t bad enough, Chuck had suddenly stumbled into a scary action movie and he wasn’t one of the characters who’d make it out alive. At least now he knew he wasn’t in a scary movie anymore – more like a humiliation conga line in the world of espionage.

            Chuck had managed pretty well so far, if he did say so himself. Three years and not a single bullet wound, that had to be a record. He knew Casey wasn’t as pleased, considering the guy had more battle scars than a crusty old pirate. And Sarah could take punches and torture without as much as a whimper. And Shaw was just the epitome of awesome.

            Granted, Chuck didn’t like Shaw as much as Sarah or even Casey; Shaw had the looks of a classic superhero and the air of a professional. He didn’t allow any emotion into his work, just cold analysis. That itself wasn’t so bad – it made Shaw a good spy, a Special Agent – but the fact that he looked down on Chuck for not being capable of the same really ticked off the Nerd Herder. Not everyone was made to be a spy, certainly not Chuck; Shaw spent his whole life training. Chuck learned on the job, a situation that really isn’t favorable all things considering. But Shaw was good at what he did and at the end of the day, so long as they completed the mission, Chuck almost felt a sense of camaraderie with the Special Agent.

            Shaw also didn’t let old grudges burn. Chuck respected him for that. No so much for killing every adversary he came across, but to each his own. Chuck was more a steal-the-suitcase-filled-with-top-secret-weapons-and-run-for-your-life kind of guy.

            Chuck hadn’t even realized Sam had been talking the entire time he was in his reverie until she finally asked him, “You know what I mean, right? Public bathrooms are so weird.”

            “Uh, right, yeah,” he stuttered, shaking his head to clear it. _Focus, Chuck!_ The last thing he needed right now was to get into a car accident or make a bad impression for Sam, who was bound to tell her mother, who would then tell Beckman, which would come around back to him. But Chuck needn’t have worried because she was off on another topic entirely, not really registering his input to the conversation. It was kind of one-sided, but Chuck didn’t mind. He needed a break for his thoughts.

            A part of him had been worried that Shaw might take advantage of Sam somehow when she finally arrived in Burbank. He certainly didn’t find it a bad idea to abandon Ellie and Awesome and disappear for an entire weekend to stop a crazy Chinese nationalist. His sister still wanted to know what happened that night he missed the get-together with their doctor friends, but not even Shaw cared if they ever got a reasonable explanation or not. All that mattered in the life of a spy was getting the job done, personal relationships be damned. The only way Shaw would even think about Chuck’s friends or family is if they provided aid or served as human shields during a mission.

            Would Shaw use Sam to his own ends? Considering the nature of her parents and complete ignorance of what regular society is like, Chuck thought Sam might be a perfect recruit to brainwash and train into some ultra-dangerous, cold-blooded killing machine. Sarah, after all, had told him she joined the CIA when she was barely out of high school. Sam had never even _seen_ a high school.

            He couldn’t imagine his cousin turning into another Sarah Walker. Not that he didn’t like Sarah, but she wasn’t the kind-hearted yogurt girl she pretended to be. More people got beat up in her shop than ate there. If Sam became just as brutal, just as bitter as Sarah...Chuck shuddered at the thought.

            What was it with the CIA recruiting kids with abnormal childhoods? Both of Chuck’s parents mysteriously disappeared when he was barely ten years old, his father actually built the Intersect, then hid for fifteen years to protect it. His best friend Bryce Larkin from college had been making sure Chuck didn’t get drafted too early. Sarah was raised to be a Little Miss Con-Artist by her father, lived like criminal nomads across the United States; Sarah never knew what a real Christmas was like, and probably hadn’t seen her mom in years. Casey was probably born a full-grown man from the womb with an AK-47 in his arms, for all Chuck knew. Casey’s childhood seemed to be something the man kept from Chuck. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, anyways.

            Would the CIA recruit kids even _younger_ than high school graduates? He never really knew how long Bryce Larkin was in, and Sarah already had a lot of training to start young. Chuck crossed his fingers that Sam’s mom hadn’t taught her daughter any skills the CIA figured they could utilize.

 _Teenage spies aren’t real_. _They only exist in movies._ Chuck tried very hard to convince himself, glancing at Sam every so often to remind himself how completely unprepared she’d be. She simply didn’t have the potential. She kept herself perfectly distracted the entire ride, not once noticing his inattention while driving.

            Chuck hadn’t realized how tense he was until he finally came to a stop in front of a stucco apartment complex in Echo Park. Just thinking about spies made him anxious, and he couldn’t believe how stiff his legs were when he finally got out of the car. Sam was already making her way towards the gate by the time Chuck could stand up straight.

            “Sam, wait –!” he yelled after before tripping on the edge of the sidewalk. He landed with a grunt and by the time he was back up and running for the courtyard fountain, he was too late.

            At the very least, Chuck had hoped Sam would run into Ellie and Awesome, who would probably react less suspiciously to strangers than anyone in the CIA. Of course, this was not Chuck’s lucky day. His sister and brother-in-law were already at the hospital, saving people’s lives like good heart and brain doctors do.

            The only people left to run into Sam were the last two people he wanted her to meet.

            Thankfully, Casey was off waxing his Crown Victoria, but Sarah had just walked out of Chuck’s apartment when Sam skidded onto the scene. Chuck arrived just in time to see Sarah reaching behind her, perhaps for the gun tucked in her waistline. She saw him shaking his head frantically while swiping his hands in the air, trying to communicate as quickly as possible that Sam wasn’t a threat. Sarah relaxed and discreetly removed her hand from around the gun and gave Sam a perfect, brilliant smile.  
  
            “Hey, you must be Chuck’s cousin,” Sarah said, although Sam didn’t seem to have heard her. The girl was poking at the lilies in the fountain, watching with an almost childlike glee as they glided across the rather greenish water. Still, Sarah was a spy trained in the art of social etiquette and having the unique gift of never looking awkward in public. At least, that’s what Chuck thought. She held out a hand, “I’m Sarah.”

            This time Sam looked up, blinking at her for a second before a wide grin grew across her face. She didn’t seem to realize the hand was being offered to her and studied at it for a moment before smiling up at Sarah. “Are you Chuck’s girlfriend?”

            Sarah stared at her for a moment, dropping her untaken hand, and then flicked her gaze to Chuck, as if asking: _How much did you tell her_? Her expression looked somewhat accusing and Chuck just shrugged his shoulders in helplessness. He had no idea what was going on in Sam’s head. He just met her.

            “Uh, well, _actually_...” Sarah was about to correct their current relationship status but Sam interrupted her.

            “Well, I figured you would be, because you’re really pretty,” Sam said, swinging back and forth on her heels like a little girl admiring a Disney Princess. Then she stopped, the smile dropping off her face as if she realized something terrible. “Unless you’re his sister, which, um...well, you don’t really have a family resemblance, so I just thought...”

            “No, it’s fine, I’m not Chuck’s sister,” Sarah laughed. Chuck knew from experience that it was a genuine one, but there seemed to be something unsaid in her words. Like she meant to say _Thank goodness, so glad I’m not related to him,_ afterwards. Chuck frowned at the implication but didn’t make to ruin the moment. Sarah continued to smile and said, “We’re actually, um, dating at the moment. Yeah, nothing serious.”

            Chuck winced at the twinge of pain in his chest. He was wondering when Sarah would address whatever the hell was going on between her and Shaw. Sometimes Chuck felt that maybe he and Sarah could have a maybe-real-relationship again, but that seemed less likely by the minute. Shaw being the total beefcake that he was didn’t help matters.

            Chuck hadn’t been expecting anything overt, because Sarah was better than that. He had to admit, she was good. Really good.

            “Well!” Chuck finally decided he wanted in on this conversation before Sarah decided she should indoctrinate Sam into the CIA immediately. He doubted she would do something so low, but with spies you can never tell. “How about we all go inside and, um, get you settled! Show you your room and stuff. How does that sound?”  
  
            Chuck felt like an idiot, hearing himself talk like a Kindergarten teacher to a teenage girl. But Sam reacted surprisingly well to it, maybe not catching on to the accidental condescension, so he wasn’t sure if it was just all in his head. She nodded her head with a perky smile and walked right through the open door to his apartment, not even waiting for someone to invite her inside. Chuck thought it was a little impolite, but decided not to make a big deal out of it.

            Even Sarah noticed her behavior. They followed the girl inside as she took in the living room. First the couch, which she sat and bounced on experimentally, before darting to the shelves of games and video game consoles Chuck owned. She peered at them like they were alien artifacts from another planet. She kept asking “What’s this?” and “What’s that?” a game Chuck was all too familiar with now. As soon as she had the living room covered, she went to the kitchen, touching and testing anything she could find.

            Chuck followed her around, not really sure what do to. Should he stop Sam? She seemed to be having a good time and wasn’t actually breaking anything.

            Sarah kept to his side, whispering so Sam wouldn’t overhear, “Is she....does she always do this?”

            “How should I know?” Chuck shrugged, keeping his voice low as well, even though he doubted Sam would notice him. Even if she did, she seemed too distracted with everything else. The knife set in particular. “All she’s known is a small cabin in Montana. This must be like Disney World for her.”

            “I’ve always wanted to know what it was like to meet someone who was hyper- observant,” Sarah mused, watching with a smirk as Sam pulled out the large cutting knives one by one, testing the blades against her fingertips. Chuck had to intervene before she got too enthusiastic with testing them. “Do you think her mom sent medication?”

            “Clary never said anything about this, so either she doesn’t know or doesn’t care.” Chuck had to push Sam away from the knife rack, getting her interested in the refrigerator instead. That would keep her busy for a good ten minutes, at least. As he ducked back beside Sarah, he said, “And I don’t think we should confuse hyper-sensitivity to stimuli for good old-fashioned ‘easily distracted.’ She’s got the attention span of a squirrel on caffeine.”

            “Well, I think it’s kind of cute.” Sarah smiled as Sam stared at a pineapple like she had no idea if it was supposed to be eaten or used as a bludgeon. “Like you said, a kid at Disney World. Imagine if you were sheltered for most of your life in the middle of nowhere, then brought to Los Angeles, California. How would _you_ react?”

            “Okay, fine, point taken,” Chuck admitted with a heavy sigh. Maybe this attention thing was just a passing phase until Sam got used to California and living like a normal teen. A dark pit in his gut told him he wasn’t going to be that lucky. “But if she starts poking in the trash, I’m going to call Clary, then the health clinic. You mind keeping an eye on her? I have to get back to the Buy More before I lose my job.”

 


	3. Sam vs. The Neighbors

**Chapter Three**

**Sam vs. The Neighbors**

 

            Sam decided she loved California. She knew this even before she landed.

            For the longest time, pine trees and snow and a one-bathroom, no-bedroom lodge were all she knew. The sun was familiar, but that was it. She didn’t understand what the buildings here were made of – how would they last against the snow in the winter? But Mom told her that most of California didn’t get a traditional, snowy winter like Montana did. Sam was sad for a little bit. Then she saw the Pacific Ocean for the first time and completely forgot about it.

            “Remember, Samantha,” her mother warned just as Sam was about to get on the plane. “Don’t get lost or talk to strangers. Don’t talk to anyone your family doesn’t know. Understand?”

            Sam was obliged to say “Yes, ma’am, I understand.” But secretly, she thought it seemed stupid that a teenager wouldn’t know this. It made Sam frustrated – she was young, not brain-dead. Didn’t her mother trust her? What did she think would happen in LA, that Sam might accidentally join a gang? That she might get in the crossfire of a gunfight between the police and some drug dealers?

            Whatever it was, Sam didn’t realize that her mother’s warnings might have been well-meaning, at least not until she landed in LAX and got to see the city for the first time.

            Its sheer size daunted her, and Sam wondered how she was going to take it all in. All those streets and buildings...a labyrinth of streets and places, no rhyme or reason to the pattern, the structure unplanned. Did she have enough room in her head? Would it explode if she tried to remember it all?

            She decided to talk it one baby step at a time. Chuck’s apartment was a start – by the time Sam was done opening, closing, and touching everything, she knew the exact layout of the space. She had overheard Chuck and Sarah talking and wanted to apologize, but she couldn’t get over what this strange fruit was. Greenish-yellow, with flattened spikes all around it, stored in the refrigerator. Did they eat it or use it to kill rodents?

            Chuck had to leave soon after they arrived. That was too bad because Sam had a million questions she wanted to ask him. She didn’t know enough about him to decide if she liked him or not, but she knew that he was confusing with his words. The way he said one thing yet seemed to mean another, as implied by his tone. Why did he do that? What did he really mean?

            Sarah remained to watch over her. Sam never had a babysitter before but she already knew she didn’t like it. She liked Sarah’s blond hair and pretty clothes, intrigued by the strange bulge at her waistline at her back. But the way Sarah always kept it out of sight, never turning her back on Sam had her thinking that maybe she wasn’t supposed to know it was there. She even asked, “What are you hiding?”

            But Sarah just gave her look of confusion and said, “What do you mean? I’m not hiding anything.”

            “Behind your back, what is it?” Sam clarified, watching Sarah with undivided attention.

            “There’s nothing, see?” Sarah turned and lifted the hem of her shirt, showing the top of her jeans but nothing tucked there. Sam blinked rapidly, wondering if maybe she was just seeing things. Whatever had been there before, it was gone now. “I don’t know what you saw, Sam.”

            “Oh.” Sam still couldn’t understand how there could be nothing there. She gave the most reasonable explanation, the one her mother always told her was the problem when something didn’t make sense in Sam’s head. She said, “Maybe I wasn’t paying attention.”

            Sam fought with that urge to keep looking with incredible difficulty. Her curiosity was almost overwhelming; to the point she couldn’t focus on anything else. She was glad Mom wasn’t here, because Sam knew her mother would tell her to stop looking something that didn’t exist, that Sam was just wasting her time. That’s what she told Sam whenever she couldn’t stop asking, “Why? Why?”

            Her mother tried to teach Sam how to focus, but it was too easy to get distracted here in LA. There were so many new sights and sounds that Sam couldn’t figure out which one to pay attention to first. It all felt so important. And with everything moving so fast, all the cars and people and animals, Sam was already exhausted within the first couple hours in California.

            “So, Sam,” Sarah said with a light tone and friendly smile, as Sam tested the bounciness of the couch cushions. “How’s your mom doing?”

            “Fine, I think,” Sam moved off the couch to reach for the series of remotes on the coffee table, pressing each button in turn. The TV went on and went through various channels, its volume on low until she muted it. “Over a hundred channels? Who needs that many?” She went back to the subject of her mother, since Sarah had followed her, leaning in like she was still expecting an answer. “I...I didn’t really know she had a job until...well, a few days ago. She didn’t really say what it was – a business trip, maybe a promotion. Which is weird, because I haven’t seen her gone to work in forever.”  
  
            “It’s probably an unpredictable workplace,” Sarah replied, nodding as if she understood exactly what was going on. Sam wondered why she didn’t look so confused as she felt, but then Sarah said, “What did you do in Montana? Anything interesting?”

            Sam glanced at the woman before turning back to the TV, the flashing images incredibly distracting. None of the channels held her interest for very long, though, so she turned it off and replied after a moment of thought. “Not really. Just hiking and stuff. I taught myself how to snowboard. Got bored of skiing.”

            “How long did it take you?”

            “A couple months.” Sam started to smile a little. “But winters in Montana last forever.”

            “I bet. I guess you’ve never been to the beach, huh?”

            “I saw the ocean on the way here, but no, I haven’t actually been there,” Sam said, shaking her head. She didn’t like being bombarded with all these questions by a woman she hardly knew, so decided to turn the conversation. “What about you? Where did you grow up?”

            Sarah opened her mouth then closed it, the smile faltering from the sudden change in topic. Was something wrong? Sam wondered what might have bothered her. She briefly wondered if Sarah was a cop; it would explain how she always seemed to expect answers.

            Sarah eventually said, “I’m...me and my family, we moved around a lot. For...jobs and stuff. I didn’t really grow up in any _specific_ place, I guess you could say. I lived in...America.”

            “Really?” Now _that_ was a lifestyle that Sam could get into. Already her mind was filled with a bunch of new questions and she could barely spit them out in a comprehensible manner. “Where did you go? What states did you go to? What kind of jobs did your parents have that had them moving around so much? Was it fun? Did you have any siblings or where you just –?”

            “Whoa, slow down!” Sarah leaned back, holding up both hands before Sam’s mouth could get ahead of her brain. She laughed before Sam could feel more confusion about the situation. What she upset or amused by Sam’s questions? “I don’t think I can answer them as fast as you can ask them. I went all around the country: East Coast, West Coast, North, South, and the Heartland. Probably only ten states I haven’t actually been in.”

            “Which one was your favorite?” Sam couldn’t help herself.

            “I’d say...” Sarah had to think about it for a moment, sliding down into an armchair to Sam’s right. Sarah’s gaze softened, going off in some indeterminable distance, and not necessarily speaking to Sam, she said, “Here. Here is the first place I could really call home.”

            “Because of Chuck, right?” Sam asked without thinking.

            “Um,” Sarah blinked, shaking her head as if Sam’s voice had interrupted her private train of thought. She looked at the girl on the couch, her brow furrowing as if she either hadn’t heard what the question was or didn’t know how to answer it. “Well...I guess. He’s – He’s a pretty big part of it, I suppose.”

            “How big?” Sam had to know.

            Sarah’s frown didn’t lighten. She seemed a little annoyed now by Sam’s unabashed blurting of questions. But the woman finally understood Sam’s curiosity would only be quenched with answers, so she replied, “If he leaves, I leave.”

            Sarah’s tone was curt, to the point, and brought about the end to the unwelcome questions. Sam was a little stunned and watched in silence as Sarah got to her feet and headed for the kitchen, her steps stiff and loud – a woman on a mission, having finally found a goal to occupy herself with. She opened the refrigerator and got out eggs, tomatoes, and some meat. Without waiting for Sam to ask another question, Sarah called, “I’m going to make dinner for Chuck’s...date. Why don’t you go across the courtyard and meet Ellie and Devon? They just got home five minutes ago.”  
  
            Sam was happy to go – she was glad she wasn’t the only one who noticed the loud engine in the distance, the sound of car doors being slammed and a happily chatting couple walking past the windows, walking out by the fountain into an apartment directly opposite of this one. Sam personally didn’t mind leaving now, even though she wondered why Sarah seemed so unhappy, banging the pots and pans with unnecessary loudness. Perhaps she just liked making a lot of noise.

            Going through the front door again, Sam noticed a flash of movement to her right. She looked over, on the alert at the sudden motion. Another person?

            In the next window over, covered in dark Venetian blinds, Sam thought she saw a dark shadow move just out of sight. She squinted, waiting for it to appear again.

            Ten seconds passed and nothing happened. Sam moved on, but not before catching something out of the corner of her eye.

            A finger and thumb pushing two blinds apart and a pair of dark eyes appeared – following her across the courtyard. Sam decided that this was not a person she would not like to meet and pretended she hadn’t noticed.

 

OoOoO

 

            Sam was immediately engulfed in a giant bear-hug from a hunky blond man upon entering the Awesome threshold. “Welcome to Los Angeles, Little Bartowski! This place is totally awesome. You’re going to love it!”

            She didn’t know what to do, just froze in place and waited from the man to release her. She didn’t know what to do in this situation. Hug back? He was a complete stranger. Her mother would disapprove of any intimate contact, even with family.

            The blond man smelled nice; a fancy cologne, as well as lavender detergent from his shirt. Sam also smelled the aftershave, and the alcohol-chemical smell on his hands. A man who used hand sanitizer a lot. Was he a germaphobe? Clean-freak?

            Sam’s mother was a clean freak. She didn’t like it when Sam left oily fingerprints on flat surfaces.

            “Devon, you’re freaking her out!” came a woman’s voice somewhere inside the house. The man – Devon, Sam assumed – drew back immediately, a sheepish grin on his face as a brown-haired woman approached, clapping her hands to free the white flour from them. She patted Devon on the shoulder, telling Sam with an apologetic smile, “Sorry, he’s a little bit on the touchy-feely side.”  
  
            “No, its fine,” Sam replied, rubbing her arms and trying to ride herself of the multitude of smells that had remained after contact with Devon. She was dismayed when the woman came in for her own hug, but didn’t know how to reject it, so let it happen. Another burst of smells filled Sam’s nose and she tried to think past them. “Um, it’s nice to meet you.”

            “Oh, jeez, I didn’t even introduce myself!” she laughed, holding Sam back at arm’s length, appraising the girl’s appearance. She grinned, apparently liking what she saw. “I’m Ellie, your cousin. And Devon Woodcomb, the human teddy bear over here, is my husband. I’m assuming Chuck already told you about us?”

            “A bit,” Sam had to admit, Ellie did indeed look much like Chuck, so it wouldn’t have been hard to guess upon first impression. She had been briefly worried she knocked on the wrong door and walked in on the wrong family. Sam sniffed the air, noticing a sweet scent that wasn’t coming from either adult. “Are you...baking something?”

            “Snickerdoodles!” Devon grinned, patting his stomach and closing his eyes at the very thought of eating those cookies. “My favorite!”

            “Maybe a little too much,” Ellie rolled her eyes, slapping her husband’s chest playfully. She winked at Sam, who didn’t know what it meant. “He’ll eat the whole batch before they’re done cooling. But you get to have the first one – I don’t want _him_ ruining his dinner.”

            “Oh, come on, babe,” Devon complained cheerfully, raising his hands in the air as Sarah shook her head and went back to the kitchen. “I’m just showing you how much I appreciate your cooking!”

            “Yes, those extra five pounds really proved it!” she called back over her shoulder. “You, mister, need to cut back on those sweets. It doesn’t fit your diet!”

            “Ah, whatever,” Devon chuckled, sticking his hands back into his pockets and shrugging as if their argument was no big deal. Then he seemed to realize Sam was still standing on the welcome mat and jumped, waving her inside, “Hey, don’t wait on us! Make yourself at home. _Me casa es su casa!_ ”

            “ _Gracias_ ,” Sam smiled, appreciating the Spanish. At least she didn’t have to ask what _that_ meant. She had so many questions in her head, particularly about Ellie and Devon’s behavior. They were arguing different points, yet did not seem angry with each other. What was that all about? She was still trying to figure out the winking thing. _What did it mean_?

            But her mother had told her not to be rude with those kinds of questions. It was Sam’s responsibility to adapt and learn on her own, not rely on others to tell her. So that was what Sam did.

            She wandered inside, taking in the new apartment. It was similar in structure and shape to Chuck’s, yet there were so many differences. The furnishing, especially, was of a different taste – no gaming consoles, no posters, no strange memorabilia. There were many picture frames of family members, mostly of Ellie and Devon, as well as a lot of decorative glassware and candles. It looked...tame, soft, cozy.

            Then Sam did what she had in Chuck’s apartment. She saw, she touched, she memorized. It was easier to take in bits and pieces, getting familiar with the place the longer she walked around. She noticed Devon staring (Ellie had her back turned, facing the oven) as she combed over the area, and Sam assumed she was fine if he wasn’t saying anything.

            Because the only questions Sam had were the kind she wasn’t allowed to ask, she had nothing else to say. She gathered from pictures and some ID tags on the counter that Ellie and Devon were doctors at the Westside Medical Center. Both doctors? She wondered how they’d met. Was that a question she was allowed to ask?

            Sam went with it.

            “We met in medical school,” Ellie replied, grunting as she bent down to open the oven door and retrieve the tray of cookies. She brought them back up and dropped them lightly on the counter, taking a metal spatula and flipping the cookies onto a rack. She slapped Devon’s hand away when he leaned in to take one. “No, honey, they’re still hot! You’ll burn yourself. Anyways – we met in Anatomy class and we just...hit it off, I guess.”

            “A couple times we bumped into each other in the hallways.” Devon said with a devilish grin, winking at Ellie. “Sometimes in the storage closet.”

            “Oh, stop it,” Ellie rolled her eyes, but smiled nonetheless. “I swear, you can be so immature...”

            Sam looked at them, uncomprehending. Was she annoyed or amused with Devon? What was the significance of a storage closet? What would they be doing in there?

            They noticed her expression and Ellie flushed, then waved Sam over. Devon just shook his head and chuckled to himself, snatching a cookie before Ellie could stop him. It had to still be hot because then he yelped, throwing the cookie in the air almost immediately. He bounced it off his hands before it could hit the floor, before clutching the crumbled cookie to his chest, wincing.

            Ellie watched the entire time, hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow. “Is it hot?”  
  
            “Sorry, babe,” Devon grinned, taking a sheepish bite out of the cookie. He made a face as he burned his tongue, but put up a brave front and gave her two thumbs up. “They’re _aweshome!_ ”

            “Maybe you should go do some core workouts, hm?” Ellie smirked, pleased to see Devon a little humbled. “Before you hurt yourself with another cookie.”

            “Good idea. I’ll get right on it.” Devon couldn’t leave the room fast enough.

            “Does he always do that?” Sam asked as her cousin-in-law (was that a thing?) exited stage left. She didn’t quite understand how they communicated, like saying one thing while apparently meaning another. How could they possibly understand each other?

            “Oh, he’s just easily excitable. Trust me, Devon is _not_ the weirdest one you’ll meet here.” Ellie replied, handing Sam a cooled cookie. As she bit into it and savored her first taste of a snickerdoodle (sweet with a dash of cinnamon – Sam decided she liked it), Ellie just held up her arms and said, “This whole family is full of crazy. Welcome to Los Angeles!”

 

 


	4. Sarah vs. the Cutting Board

**Chapter Four**

**Sarah vs. the Cutting Board**

 

            Turning the stove on with a slap of her hand, Sarah cursed herself under her breath. How could she be so unprofessional? Letting a girl get under her skin like that? That was a newbie’s reaction. A mistake _Chuck_ would make.

            Sarah ran a hand through her hair, closing her eyes and inhaling through her nose. _Keep it together, Walker._ So many things were happening, and she had no idea what they meant. What was going on in Shaw’s head? Had he been flirting with her? For such a consummate professional, Sarah didn’t expect that from him, so didn’t quite know what to make of it. And after a rough break-up with Chuck, well...it was proof enough that dating her coworkers never ended well.

            She had hoped that Chuck wouldn’t take it too hard, that he might get so upset that he wouldn’t be able to function. After all, that’s what she was here for: Protect the Asset, and therefore the Intersect, at all costs.

            But now Chuck was scaring her. How can a man who felt so guilty about lying to his friends and family also be so good at it? The way Chuck pulled on his Rafe-disguise was incredibly uncanny, from deeper voice to decisions on the field that a _real_ assassin would make. Chuck had those clients wrapped around his finger in no time flat, pulled Casey’s tooth just to prove to his clients that Rafe takes all affronts personally (one of the clients recognized Casey – to save his cover, Chuck had to exact revenge in any way short of murder). It was lucky she and Shaw intervened when they did, otherwise Casey might be a dead man right now. Chuck was much more clever than he first appeared. It made her wonder...

            Sarah ran a hand through her hair, closing her eyes and inhaling through her nose. _Keep it together, Walker._ So many things were happening, and she had no idea what they meant. What was going on in Shaw’s head? Had he been flirting with her? For such a consummate professional, Sarah didn’t expect that from him, so didn’t quite know what to make of it. And after a rough break-up with Chuck, well...it was proof enough that dating her coworkers never ended well.

            Did Chuck see what was going on between her and Shaw? She had hoped they had been discreet with the weird flirting (at least, she tried to be), but if there was one thing Chuck was good at, it was having emotions. He understood body languages, relationships better than anyone on this team; probably because he valued them the most. If Chuck had seen anything, he was keeping it to himself.

            But then who was he to complain if Shaw and Sarah really did have a thing? Chuck had his own girlfriend, perfect little Hannah who could make no mistakes. That woman was a walking commercial for happiness – Sarah suspected that if Chuck had a normal life, that Hannah would be the girl he’d marry. Of course, Chuck would have never even met Hannah if he had not been assigned a solo mission to Paris, France and met her along the way. He charmed her, as he always did, and that woman fell so hard she got hired at the Buy More just to get closer to him.

            They _did_ make a cute couple, even if it made Sarah gag. There should be a rule about kissing in the workplace, in front of your colleagues. A rule she would make Chuck follow for the benefit of everyone else watching.

            But this relationship with Hannah was also detrimental to the team. Chuck was always off, trying to skimp on missions so he could spend more time with his not-so-secret-anymore girlfriend (Ellie found out the other night). Relationships were apparently taboo even in the Buy More, so the two had kept it on the down low, but everyone on Team Bartowski knew. They had to. Chuck’s life was their business, and they were in charge of how Chuck should live it. Missing a few dinner dates and parties was the price for having the world’s most dangerous secrets downloaded into your brain.

            But Chuck wouldn’t listen. Oh, no, what he and Hannah had was special. Nothing Sarah or Casey or Shaw could do to change that.

            Sarah wanted to punch something. She wanted to be in her apartment, not here covering Chuck’s ass (again); just her hardest, coldest blows into the tough red punching bag. She wanted to feel the pain in her knuckles, the ache in her wrists, the throbbing in her arms.

            But everything in Chuck’s life was so fragile, including his house. She couldn’t really do anything remotely violent without breaking something. Still, Sarah could not contain herself without doing _something..._ so she grabbed a large knife from the rack and stabbed the slab of steak on the wooden cutting board.

            Sarah immediately regretted the action when she heard a loud _Crack!_ The blade had pierced through the wood and broken it in two. Great. Fantastic. Now she had to buy another one before someone asked why she snapped a cutting board in half. Chuck had it easy, fitting in this strange suburban community. He could walk through a crowd without getting a second glance– but wherever Sarah went, she got looks. Real stares.

            The price of beauty. Something that may be nice if she were a normal woman, but as a spy, could draw attention when she wanted stealth.

            Chopping up the meat with military precision, Sarah reached for the cabinet overhead and drew out the can of oil. Sometimes the attention was good, especially for distractions. But not when Sarah was supposed to be the frozen yogurt girl at Orange-Orange. How did a woman like her end up in a dead-end job like that? She had more credentials to her name than a graduate of Harvard or Yale.

            It wasn’t fair. Sarah knew this – she lived her life knowing this. But who did Chuck think he was, believing himself special enough to have a personal life while the rest of the team couldn’t have that luxury? Sarah understood that overwhelming stress could really bring down someone, especially a person like Chuck, who didn’t do well under tense situations. But he his desire to stay with his family helped Chuck as often as it almost got him (and anyone else) killed.

            Chuck shouldn’t be called the Asset. He should be called the Liability.

            Sarah poured the oil into the hot pan, leaning away when the liquid popped and spat. However, Team Bartowski needed him. If Chuck was out of the game, then all of this effort was for nothing. The team disbanded, spies sent to different parts of the world to never see each other again, and Chuck kidnapped and locked up in an underground facility. Sarah didn’t want Chuck to end up like that. Even though she was angry with him right now, she knew he didn’t have a single malicious bone in his body. Chuck wouldn’t hurt someone if he could help it, and he always felt bad afterwards. That was the thing with Chuck. He had a conscience. His guilt was always genuine.

            Chuck wanted his family to know his secret. He wanted Morgan Grimes to know. But she couldn’t let that happen.

            Sarah dropped chunks of meat into the frying pan, the kitchen filling with the sound of sizzling steak. As much as it would make Chuck happy, his secret was a secret for a reason. It was to protect the ones he loved, saved them from a burden that they might not be able to bear. Sarah couldn’t risk it. Shaw wouldn’t even consider it. And Casey would probably kill both the Intersect and his bearded little friend if he ever found out the truth.

            No. It was for Chuck’s safety (and everyone he cared about), that his spy life stayed strictly separate from his normal life. Devon could barely handle the truth and was told as a last resort. Morgan could not know. His sister could not know. Not even his perfect girlfriend could get too close.

            _Shit_. Sarah hissed and stuck her fingers into her mouth when she grabbed the hot pan handle without a cloth first. She went to the sink and stuck her hand under cool water, taking deep breaths to calm herself. She was acting rashly, not thinking straight.

            Chuck was special. There was no denying it. But he wasn’t making the kind of sacrifices she was making. He couldn’t see the big picture here – if he kept up this relationship with Hannah, something bad might happen. Sarah just wanted to help.

            That’s all she ever wanted to do.

            Shutting off the water, Sarah dried her hand on a towel and returned to the cooking meat. She set another pot on the stove, filling it with several cups of water before getting fresh vegetables from the refrigerator. She checked her watch – damn, only an hour to go. Where the hell was Shaw?

            Sarah would never admit it in his presence, but she kind of appreciated the agent. If Shaw had been the Intersect, the team wouldn’t be experiencing these problems. Shaw didn’t let his emotions take over, didn’t let them rule his life. If something bothered him, he’d think with his head, not with his heart. He was a cold-blooded, straight-talking thinker and Sarah liked the efficiency he dealt with things. If only Chuck could take a page from Shaw’s book.

            But Chuck wore his heart on his sleeve. He despised Shaw, and didn’t really try to hide it. Sarah was sort of impressed by the boldness; not even Casey had the guts to question a superior’s judgment call, particularly one he respected. But respect was something neither Shaw nor Chuck had for each other. Sarah would honestly be surprised if that wasn’t part of the problem.

            Sarah would not compromise. Casey wouldn’t. Shaw wouldn’t. Beckman sure as hell wouldn’t. Why should she give Chuck more leniency than the rest?

            The water started to boil and she scooped the vegetables from its Styrofoam platter into the pot. Behind her, she heard the front door open and close. Begging God that this wasn’t Sam, back again after sniffing out and touching everything in the Awesome’s apartment, she steeled her nerves and turned around.

            “Got the dessert,” Shaw raised an arm holding a plastic bag, smirk on his face. He looked surprisingly normal in a blue shirt and jeans. It was a deviation from the usual black leather that always made him look so imposing and cold.

            Sarah smiled back, pleased to see that he had everything else she needed to create Chuck’s special pepperoni-chicken dinner. She didn’t like having to set up a scene that didn’t involve killing Russian assassins – this one didn’t even involve sedatives or interrogation – but Chuck needed to maintain a normal social life and she kind of owed him one for the last mission.

            As Shaw began setting up the table, he asked, “Is that girl here already? I thought I saw someone in Devon’s apartment.”

            “She arrived this morning,” Sarah reported, flipping over the pieces of meat with a spatula. The raw sides sizzled while she inspected the cooked belly, deciding them to be edible once finished. “Single bag, passport, but no other IDs. Spent most of the time asking questions and taking in the apartment – she shows signs of hyper-vigilance, although Chuck believes it’s just ADHD.”  
  
            “Same difference,” was his reply behind her. If there was one thing Shaw could do without fail, it was having a clinical indifference to the world around him. An objective outlook of a spy that Sarah liked after having Chuck’s moral issues often getting in the way, or Casey’s bellicose nature risking their covers getting blown. “I assume she’s not on medication?”

            “Not as far as I can tell, and Special Agent Cressey didn’t say anything about it in her debriefing,” Sarah cited one of Clarice Bartowski’s multiple identities, Dahlia Cressey, the cover she often used when masquerading as a civilian in remote areas. The woman had been off-duty long enough that secrecy would be relatively easy in Prague. “She seemed adamant, though, that Sam shouldn’t be forced into anything right away. Cressey didn’t really have a chance to...toughen the girl up, if you know what I mean.”

            “That’s her fault.” Shaw said, apparently not daunted in the least bit that Sam was as capable of killing a person as Chuck was. “Cressey knew her job was to start the girl off young, and now it’s on her if Sam suffers the repercussions of a conscience. It doesn’t take that long to turn a spy – how long did it take you?”

            “Six months, seventeen days,” Sarah replied automatically, then paused, wondering why she had kept count. She had barely completed training before getting her first assignment to off an enemy agent. It was scary work, but she didn’t shoot anyone. The man had been hiding under the guise of an art critic, and all it took was one poisoned spoon of caviar to drop the guy. It didn’t even feel real to her. All Sarah had to do was taint the stuff and watch from afar. Detached, fascinated. She didn’t actually get to shoot someone until her Red Test. “But I was out of high school by then. Sam is barely in it.”  
  
            “The younger the better,” Shaw shrugged, placing the glassware with delicate care on the table mats. For a spy who’d probably killed men with his bare hands, it was strange watching him move so cautiously with brittle things. “We don’t want her to turn out like Chuck.”

            “Right, of course,” Sarah didn’t sound so sure this time. She wasn’t exactly excited to join the CIA when they asked, and as a teenager the journey had been that much more daunting. She doubted someone like Chuck could survive such an ordeal. Sam may not have seen much, but Sarah quietly wondered if turning Sam into a spy like Shaw would be such a good idea. “She’ll be fine.”

            “Relax, Sarah,” Shaw noticed her uneasiness and when she looked at him, he gave her a reassuring smile. Shaw held his arms out wide, like he was announcing great news. “We’ll turn her into the perfect spy.”

            Sarah smiled, but it felt forced. She didn’t say anything else, but her stomach wouldn’t set right inside her, and for the rest of the evening she felt a little sick. Getting a teenage girl to kill a man before her sixteenth birthday was not something Sarah was looking forward to.

 


	5. Sam vs. the Pepperoni-Chicken

**Chapter Five**

**Sam vs. the Pepperoni-Chicken**

 

            Sam stared at her room, trying to imagine living there for the next three months. It was just so _big..._

            The twin bed was placed next to the door, facing the window on the other side. After taking in the rest of Chuck’s of apartment, Sam knew this was the smallest bedroom – what did Sarah call it? A guest bedroom? She was a guest in this house. She dropped her backpack beside the table and looked out the window, wishing she could see the ocean.

            That would be her top priority tomorrow: see the ocean. Smell it. Swim in it. What would it feel like? What would it taste like? There was so much she wanted to know.

            She could already smell dinner being cooked. It was almost done – the table had been set with five placemats for five people. Sam assumed she would be one of the diners, as well as Chuck and Sarah, but she wasn’t sure about the rest. Ellie and Devon (or Captain Awesome, as he preferred to be called) would probably fill up the other two. She never had a real fancy dinner like that before. She was also very interested in what pepperoni-chicken was.

            Sam unpacked her backpack. She hadn’t taken much with her, just what her mother deemed essential to survival. Sam wasn’t too bothered that she hadn’t been able to take more with her – she was sure there was plenty to find in California to fill up all the empty space on her shelves and tabletops.

            She hadn’t overseen the packing of her bag, but what she found inside didn’t surprise her. First, a map of the United States. Well, she already knew the fifty states and their locations by heart, so it felt superfluous to have – until she decided that the many cities and towns _within_ the States weren’t as well memorized and decided that maybe keeping it would be for the best. There was also her passport, which Sam already knew about. No stamps, no locations, just her picture, physical description, name, and birth date. There was a wallet with several different denominations of cash inside, mostly US dollars and Euros; she wasn’t sure why she even had Euros, would anyone here take them? It seemed unnecessary – her mother would, under no circumstances, would ever let Sam leave the States without her permission first.

            Her mother never liked credit or debit cards, so those were noticeably lacking. Of course, she had packed Sam’s trusty butterfly knife, a gift for her thirteenth birthday when her mother finally considered her an official teenager (Sam had been pressing the topic since she turned eleven). Sam felt better wearing it, in a thin slot she had sewn into the inside of her shoe.

            But there were a scatter of items Sam _didn’t_ expect to find in her bag. One: her mother’s silver ring. It wasn’t any of her nice ones, the ones with gemstones that sparkled in the light – just a simple ring designed in a Celtic knot. Sam had never seen her mother wear it but she knew that it was one of the several she kept locked away; the kind that Sam wasn’t allowed to touch.

            Sam smiled to herself, slipping the ring on her right middle finger, the only one large enough to fit. She never owned any jewelry (it didn’t mean much when you lived in a small cabin in the mountains), and was glad to have something personal of her mother’s. She never thought her mother would give her anything sentimental.

            The second item was a little stranger: a lighter. Sam frowned when she flicked it on, watching the flame in a moment of contemplation. She only kept lighters to build fires, but California seemed to be perfectly fine with reliable electricity. It was an odd thing to pack, especially since there was no accompanying axe to cut down trees with.

            But the third item, as well as the strangest, was a tube of lipstick. Sam stared at the alien object, not even sure where her mother had gotten it. Jewelry was a luxury – make-up even more so, and definitely not something her mother would own. She wasn’t that kind of lady. But the fact that she put a tube of fuchsia pink lipstick had to mean she expected _something_ would happen in California. Right? Sam had no idea what it could be for.

            Sam threw the rest of her things back in her bag. She didn’t know where else to put them. The wallet she placed on her bedside table – If Sarah really meant it, and they _did_ go out together tomorrow, maybe Sam could seize the opportunity and buy some clothes. It was a little too hot to wear the same jeans all the time, anyways.

            But when she got downstairs, Sarah was nowhere to be found. Chuck and Devon were talking quietly to each other in the kitchen while Ellie and a complete stranger giggled in the living room. This woman had soft brown hair and twinkling green eyes, a smile that seemed so welcoming, that it drew Sam nearer. The stranger’s eyes fell on Sam and she tilted her head in interest towards the teen, “Oh, who are you?”

            Ellie grinned, jumping beside the approaching Sam and placing a hand on her shoulder. “Hannah, this is Sam; she’s our cousin, just moved in from Montana. Say hi, Sam.”

            “Hi, Sam,” Sam said before she realized what Ellie actually meant. She meant to correct herself, but Hannah was already giggling.

            “You’re funny, Sam,” Hannah said, holding out her hand, the other occupied with a glass of wine. She had a pretty blue top on, which made Sam think her own shirt dirty. “I’m Hannah, it’s nice to meet you.”

            “Nice to meet you, too,” Sam took Hannah’s hand and recited the words her mother told her to say in situations like this. It didn’t matter if it was true or not – it was meant to be polite or something, and Sam didn’t necessarily want to upset Hannah if she said what she was actually thinking: that she was really hungry and didn’t know a woman as pretty as Hannah would go for a guy like Chuck. What did Hannah like about him?

            Hannah and Ellie continued to talk work and family. Sam was at first interested, learning that Hannah was originally from Santa Barbara, where her parents lived now. She interrupted the conversation to ask where Santa Barbara was, even though Ellie and Hannah had already moved on to the topic of shoes. It earned Sam a strange look, but Hannah happily obliged with an answer: an hour and a half, on a good day.

            After that, Sam was starting to get impatient. Ellie and Hannah’s conversation went to Chuck and Captain Awesome. While informative, Sam already knew some of these things: that Captain Awesome was a doctor. Chuck could do better than the Buy More (whatever that was; Sam tried to ask but they were so into their talk that she couldn’t get a word in edgewise). Both of them said that with a Stanford degree, Chuck could do whatever he wanted, but he stayed at some low-standard computer store for various reasons. Ellie reasoned that it was because he was afraid of change. Hannah had assumed it was because of Morgan Grimes, Chuck’s best friend, who didn’t have a college degree and the Buy More was the best he could get. Chuck stayed at the Buy More to support his friend, who was already a full grown man, Ellie reminded.

            She waited, mouth watering at the smell of food. Sam kept itching to reach over and help herself to some vegetables and steak, but the look Sarah threw her when she dared to raise a hand to feed herself quickly discouraged any attempt to do so. Sam slumped her shoulders, hands falling back into her lap. She was so _hungry_...

            Eventually, the food was placed at the table. Chuck and Awesome exchanged some significant looks across either end of the table, a look that meant something beyond Sam’s comprehension. Were they sharing some sort of secret? She wanted to ask but was suddenly distracted by the plate of food as she sat down. Her hunger defeated her curiosity and she already had a mouthful of pepperoni chicken before Hannah could start the toast.

            Ellie mentioned that this chicken was good. Like, _really_ good, as though the last time she ate it, the food was terrible. Chuck looked surprised, and she explained that she always told him she liked it (for whatever reason, Sam couldn’t divine), but this time she _actually_ liked it. Sam wanted to say that it was, in fact, _Sarah_ who cooked it, but without proof Sam was afraid that they wouldn’t believe her. After all, Sarah was nowhere to be found. Chuck didn’t hesitate to agree that he made the chicken, even if this was the first time he did it ‘right’.

            Ellie turned to Devon for confirmation and Devon just stared at her as if she pointed a gun at him. He exchanged another significant look with Chuck before finally saying, “I don’t know,” although Sam had already seen him start to eat the chicken. How could he not have an opinion? Either one liked the food, or they didn’t. Easy.

            Hannah decided to defuse the situation by offering up a toast. Sam wasn’t allowed to drink wine, or any alcohol for that matter, so had some sparkling water to suffice. Hannah talked about how she finally felt like she belonged, how everything felt right in her life – Sam wished she could say the same, but with her head bugging with questions and distractions, it was hard to feel at ease with anything. She hardly knew this family and already she could sense secrets abounding. Was everyone always this secretive? Sam certainly didn’t think she was hiding anything, or _had_ anything to hide. Why wasn’t everyone just being honest with each other?

            When the conversation started turning personal, Sam had to answer a few questions. This was something that got a little easier now since they seemed to be the same ones each time, just phrased a little differently. Where are you from? Why are you here? Where did you go to school? How’s summer been? Are you having a good time?

            It was starting to dawn on Sam that maybe these were the kinds of questions people were required to ask others. She didn’t know why – to show to each other that they were nice people, that they cared on some level? Or was it just polite, just assigned protocol, and after that’s been done, the conversation could move on to more important topics.

            It seemed to be the last one, since very few questions were lodged Sam’s way again after that. She didn’t mind – she preferred listening, learning, trying to find out everything she could about everyone’s past. Sometimes she had questions, but it took her awhile to ask them after going through all the ones she wanted to ask first. She had priorities, of course.

            But she seemed to lag behind everyone else. Sam was used to one-on-one, but with four people all in at once, her neck was getting tired of following the conversation. Her head rattled with the voices, all those quick replies that didn’t make sense until she thought about it for awhile, and by then she had missed a big chunk of the chitchat. It was frustrating, to say the least.

            Hannah seemed to notice Sam’s discomfort. “Sam, are you all right? You look...odd.”

            It took Sam several seconds to realize someone was speaking to her and jumped in her seat when she realized everyone was looking at her, waiting for her to answer. For some reason, her cheeks started to heat up, although Sam didn’t want them to. “I, uh, I was just getting distracted. Are we having desert soon?”

            It seemed silly after the fact that her only question would be about food instead of furthering the conversation, like her mother taught her to do. But Sam wasn’t interested in anything else. She was starting to feel tired, the exhaustion pushing down on her shoulders and eyelids and making her lean forward into the table. It was barely seven o’ clock, but Sam was ready to hit the sack. She hoped that maybe the sugar could keep her up longer.

            The adults exchanged a collective look, a combination of amusement and some eye rolling, as if to say: _Of course_. Sam didn’t think her answer was so funny.

            Ellie left the table to get desert once everyone had completed their meal (Sam was done first because she did the least amount of talking). Then Chuck excused himself to go to the bathroom, and Hannah leaned over the table to give Sam a wink and a grin, “So, Sam, I bet you have tons of stories from living in Montana. Any cute boys where you lived?”

            “No.” Sam said, puzzled by the wink. What did that mean? Maybe Hannah just had a twitch in her eye or something, but it looked so deliberate. “Why did you do that?”

            “Why did I do what?” Hannah asked, blinking both eyes this time, looking confused.

            “The winking thing, what’s that about?” Sam said, pointing at Hannah’s face before remembering her mother telling her it was rude to point. She quickly brought down her hand onto the table before she could upset Hannah. “I don’t understand what it means.”

            “Winking? You don’t know...” Hannah herself seemed perplexed on the matter. She drew back and tapped her chin, throwing Sam an almost sly look. It was playful, but Sam didn’t understand that. “Well, it means...well, I guess I don’t really know what it means. It’s like I’m trying to say – I’m trying to clue you into what I’m saying or doing, you know?”

            Sam did not, in fact, know and Hannah’s explanation didn’t really help. So she shook her head and said, “You people are so weird.”

            Hannah stared at her for a moment, hand going limp beside her face as her eyebrows shot up on her forehead. Then she started to laugh. Sam, completely bewildered, started to laugh to, although she still wasn’t sure what was going on.

            Devon just watched the whole thing with wide eyes, throwing a strange look at his wife when she came back around with the cake. Ellie just shrugged her shoulders, apparently not too concerned – it wasn’t like anyone was upset or hurt. Sam was starting to catch on that maybe husband and wife understood each other on a level higher than a verbal one. A language based on looks and body language that absolutely boggled Sam’s mind. She wanted to learn how to do that. It was so much more interesting than just talking to people. And much more difficult to understand, too.

            There was a distant crash from the bathroom door – Ellie just smiled nervously and said to the group at large that Chuck probably just dropped something, he’s so clumsy. That got Hannah started on another story about when he knocked over a precious Ming vase when updating the security system at an art museum. Sam didn’t know what a Ming was, but the way Hannah talked about it, the vase was incredibly valuable. Through a loophole in the Buy More’s insurance clause, Chuck was lucky enough not to pay for it.

            Eventually Chuck returned, looking a little frazzled but putting on a brave face as he waved and returned to the dinner table. Ellie asked him what happened in there and Chuck just waggled his fingers in the air and said, “Ah, you know me, totally butterfingers. Yep, that’s it, that’s all that happened. Nothing weird or suspicious going on around here, nope, not at all.”

            Sam thought Chuck was trying too hard to sound innocent, but she had no idea _why_ he would be doing that, so just added it the list of things she didn’t understand. Would that list ever get shorter, or would she never get the right answers?

            Chuck continued to act like a paranoid squirrel for the rest of the evening. If anyone else noticed the way he kept looking over his shoulder or checking out the windows (which were covered in blinds), they didn’t say anything. Sam wondered if this was just the sort of behavior someone ignored at the dinner table. Everyone else seemed to be doing it and Sam decided to follow suit. She feared she wouldn’t get an answer anyways, and was too tired to really care anymore.

            By the time the gathering was over, Sam was ready to hit the sack. Everyone got up from the table, but when Sam made to leave for her room, Ellie pulled her back so she could endure another fifteen minutes of “Good-byes”, “See you later’s”, and “Hope we do this again, dinner was great,” sort of thing. Sam was practically sleeping on her feet by the time everyone was out the door.

            Ellie and Devon left for their own apartment, deciding to go to bed early because of work tomorrow. Chuck decided to drive Hannah home, so the only one who remained behind was Sam. She didn’t mind being left alone, she was used to it, and after the hubbub of the day, this extended silence was incredibly welcomed.

            She didn’t bother with the TV or the toaster or the strange contraption of a pitcher with spinning blades at the bottom of it. While they were all very interesting, Sam was afraid her family might be back too soon for her to disentangle her thoughts long enough to get some sleep.

            Slipping into the bare, slightly dusty guest bedroom, Sam didn’t bother to change into her pajamas before falling into bed. She had forgotten she didn’t even _have_ some spare pajamas anyways, and was asleep before she could find out she was not alone in the house.


	6. Chuck vs. the Bathroom Mirror

**Chapter Six**

**Chuck vs. the Bathroom Mirror**

 

            Chuck had just turned on the faucet in the bathroom sink when he looked up in the bathroom mirror and saw Sarah’s reflection staring back at him.

            Uttering a girlish scream and knocking over the soap dispenser, Chuck spun around and faced the CIA agent that had somehow managed to sneak back into his house. How _did_ she get in without anyone else noticing?

            “Were-were you here the entire time I was – wait, what are you doing here?” Chuck asked in a stutter, running a hand through his hair. He knew it was a bad idea to leave his girlfriend alone with his family when he was with his _ex_ -girlfriend in the bathroom. It was hard enough trying to explain why Sarah was always around him all the time, but if anyone found out she was here, right now, he wasn’t sure if he could come up with a decent explanation. “I didn’t know you were going to stay!”

            “It’s part of my mission, Chuck,” Sarah snapped back, glaring at him through drawn brows. Granted, he knew that Sam’s visit wasn’t exactly a coincidence, but how just interested _was_ the CIA? “Shaw assigned me to supervise the asset, to evaluate her skills and judge how ready she is to be assimilated into the CIA.”

            “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Chuck waved his hands in the air, shaking his head. He squeezed his eyes shut, not quite believing his ears. “Are you saying the CIA – _General Beckman_ is consigning a freaking _teenager_ to be a spy?! Isn’t that what they did with you?”

            “She never said we had to like it,” Sarah looked away, frowning when he mentioned her case. Honestly, Chuck wasn’t sure how Sarah felt about joining the CIA when she was just out of high school (from the wonderful ten year reunion they had, Chuck assumed boot camp was a walk in the park for Sarah compared to hypercritical teenagers). “And if it means anything, I don’t, but it’s not for us to decide. And besides, it won’t be a while until anything happens. I still have to assess her skills in various situations – social, martial, the basics. I’m pretty sure she’s trained in at least _one_ martial art (Agent Cressey would be crazy not to), but it’s her ability to react in tense situations that bothers me. I don’t know what her temperament is.”

            “Yeah, because when it comes to teenagers, they have a tendency to _not_ overreact,” Chuck replied, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes. He didn’t know if he could convince Sarah, never mind Beckman, to leave his cousin alone, at least until she was old enough to vote. “Have you seen her? She’s never been in a school; she’s never met anyone else her own age, she doesn’t even know what _MTV_ is! How do you _think_ she’s going to react? She’ll completely snap.”

            Sarah huffed, glaring at him. “You don’t know that, Chuck. Give Agent Cressey some credit, she knew what she was doing when she raised Sam. She’s the reason why I’m here right now – not you, not Hannah, so get over it. This isn’t about you, okay?”

            It might have been true, but that didn’t make Chuck feel better. It also didn’t help him find a decent excuse as to why he was making so much noise in the bathroom – he was sure Ellie or Hannah was going to mention it when he got back. He was glad the dim bathroom lights hid some of his frustration. Chuck hated it when everyone else could read his emotions. He was like an open book and sometimes he tried for subtlety. “Fine. But can you not do this in the middle of a family dinner? It’s really hard to pretend I’m not a spy when a bunch keep popping up in my house uninvited. What if Hannah sees you?”

            “Look, I’m sorry if this ruins your dinner, but the mission has to come first,” Sarah’s expression softened to something of sympathy, maybe even regret. Had this been anyone else, say Casey or Shaw, Chuck would get no sense of apology at all. “But I promise I’ll stay out of your way tomorrow. I’ll take Sam out so you won’t have any more problems and I can observe her without interrupting your social life.”

            She said ‘social life’ the same way she said ‘emotions’, like it were something unnecessary and cumbersome. Chuck watched her, wondering if Sarah was trying to imply something. He imagined she would still be a little angry with Hannah, but maybe she just didn’t appreciate a regular existence. Life as a spy could do that to you.

            There was a commotion of laughter in the dining room, and they both turned their heads to listen in. Not surprisingly, it seemed as though Sam had asked yet another blunt question, apparently uninhibited by regular social conventions. Chuck wanted to intervene before his clueless cousin unwittingly rendered critical damage, but Sarah grabbed his arm and pulled him back, “Wait, Chuck, we’re not finished yet.”

            “Oh, god, what is it?” Chuck didn’t want to hang around and talk about this anymore. He had a bad feeling Hannah was going to give him a hard time once he got back. Maybe he was being cynical, but trying to cover his secret was getting harder and harder these days. The guilt of lying to those he cared about was starting to take its toll. How long could he keep doing this before he snapped? “Look, I get it, I’m not in control, I should stop complaining, what _else_ do you _want_?”

            Okay, Chuck might have said that a little meaner than he meant to. Sarah drew her hand back and for a second he thought he saw a flicker of hurt in her eyes. It was gone before he could be sure. Sarah’s jaw clenched and she pressed her lips into a thin line. “Just wanted to tell you a good job with the inside job today. Casey was actually proud of you.”

            “Oh, um, thanks,” Chuck flushed, embarrassed he had assumed Sarah would only continue with the Chuck-bashing. He had to admit, pulling out a tooth from the jaw of a man who would kill Chuck with a single look – even scarier than defusing a live bomb with a porn virus. Chuck turned back to Sarah and said, “What are you planning to do tomorrow?”

            “We’ll go to the boardwalk,” Sarah shrugged, relaxing ever so slightly at the change of subject. She seemed more at ease with the question; Chuck was acting hostile to everything she said. At least he could trust Sarah to keep Sam safe. “Walk around, talk. I promise, nothing will happen.”

            “I believe you,” Chuck nodded after a moment, then pointed a finger at the closed bathroom door, the sound of a happy, normal dinner taking place. “Well, I have to go check on my date and make sure she doesn’t think I’m completely weird. Are you going to stay overnight or...”

            “I’ll watch over Sam, but I’ll keep out of sight so she won’t know I’m here.” Sarah said, not looking particularly concerned with Hannah’s opinion of him. All things considered, Chuck’s new girlfriend was a liability – it would’ve been easier if Chuck pretended to be dating Sarah, all personal feelings aside, but Chuck needed a break from the spy life, wherever he could find it. Hannah was perfect, and she was refreshing in every way possible. Although she came a bit too close to the truth on several occasions (getting locked in an airtight museum room and almost suffocating to death definitely wasn’t a highlight to their experience), Hannah was still very much one of the last people in Chuck’s life who were normal.

            He was surprised to find that no one had killed each other when he got back to the dinner table. Hannah seemed to like Sam fine, even though Sam herself looked incredibly awkward and confused. Chuck reminded himself that this was probably the longest time she ever spent with a set of people before, other than her mother. Being hyper-vigilant, ADHD, whatever – it was probably a lot to take in at once.

            The rest of the evening went swimmingly, to Chuck’s relief. Although he knew Sarah was still snooping around the house, out of sight, he still felt like he was being watched by a pair of eyes. A pair of _unfriendly_ eyes, to be exact. He kept checking over his shoulder, wondering if Casey was spying through the blinds like he usually did when Chuck was with his family. But Chuck saw no shadows in the windows, no eyes peering through the cracks between the windows and the curtains.

            One time, he turned back around and realized Sam was staring at him, apparently alarmed by his behavior. Unable to talk about it in front of everyone, Chuck just gave her a nervous grin and tiny wave, praying that she wouldn’t bring it up to the conversation. His lucky stars must be shining tonight, because she turned back to her desert and didn’t say a word.

            After dinner was over, farewells given, and leaving behind a clearly exhausted Sam to go to sleep (he trusted Sarah to intervene in case Sam did anything stupid), Chuck drove Hannah home. It was a pleasant drive and Chuck was glad he didn’t have to lie as much as he had to, although the way Hannah went on about how good Chuck’s ‘cooking’ was, he started to feel embarrassed and a little ashamed. Sarah and Shaw had made that dinner and they actually made it taste good. He thought _his_ chicken-pepperoni tasted good, but was a little bummed to find out that Ellie had been lying to him for the past fifteen or so years.

            He could see how much it bothered Ellie to keep that tiny little secret that didn’t actually mean much, at least to him. Chuck wondered if that made him some sort of monster to be keeping much bigger, much more dangerous secrets from his sister, who he wanted to know but also didn’t want to know. What if she got hurt? What if she hated him? The spy life had already forced their dad into hiding, what would she say if the same thing happened to Chuck?

            These thoughts were distracting him from Hannah, who was talking about one of her old jobs. Something about getting job offer in San Francisco, how much better it was than the Buy More, how Chuck should come with her because he deserved something better. And Chuck really wanted to go, he really did. He liked the Buy More, truly, but he had higher aspirations. The only thing keeping him back in Burbank was Morgan, really, and his spy life, which he never mentioned. He knew Ellie would be ecstatic if he happened to move to San Francisco to start a new life, a new job, be rich and happy and in love.

            But that life was a faraway dream, a fantasy, really, that would never come true. Chuck kissed Hannah good night, enjoying the moment, loving her smile and her sparkling eyes and the way she had no idea who he really was. He watched her disappear into her building, happy as could be, and wondered if this relationship would really last. His luck with love was practically nonexistent.

            On the way back, Chuck could only think of the failures in his life. His first love, Jill, had been a college classmate and the first woman he actually thought he could marry someday. She fun and smart and sassy, a PHD in bio-medical. He felt safe being a nerd, a geek, a whatever around her. At least until she broke up with him for his best friend Bryce Larkin, brother in his fraternity – the guy that also got him kicked out of Stanford with planted cheat sheets. Chuck could only look back on those days with a bit of nostalgia and sadness now. Bryce Larkin had been an agent for the CIA – he purposely kicked Chuck out of college so Chuck wouldn’t get recruited by the CIA to become an analyst, locked away from his family and friends forever. Chuck kind of appreciated Bryce for that.

            Then there was Lou, the sandwich girl. Not a spy, or a Ring agent, just a normal pretty girl who was a genius with meat and bread and lettuce and all sorts of spices. Only, it turned out she was buying off the black market for these special sausages and one FBI search warrant later and she pretty much excommunicated Chuck.

            When he reconnected with Jill about a year or two ago, Chuck couldn’t be happier. He thought they might have a chance again – only to find out that Jill was now a Ring agent, working for a mysterious terrorist organization based somewhere in LA, the people Team Bartowski was currently trying to take down. Jill almost got Chuck and his allies killed. He still wasn’t sure if Sarah had forgiven him for letting her get away.

            And then there was Sarah. She was obviously a CIA agent, but Chuck didn’t know that when he first met her. She was perfect, even more perfect than Jill – she was no-nonsense, had a sense of humor, was a super chill dancer, and could kick major ass (the last part he found out later). But she was a professional above all, even with a previous relationship with Bryce Larkin, who Chuck could apparently never beat in terms of having a girlfriend or being a spy. When a relationship with Chuck, either genuine or not, became too much of a risk, they had to break it off. Chuck hated it, hated for doing it, but now he looked back on it and decided it was probably for the best. He still saw her everyday and she still saved his life pretty much all the time. It was like the old days, when he could pretend he wasn’t attracted to her.

            Chuck pulled into the driveway and headed back up to his apartment. It was dark, except for a few lights on. Sarah and Devon had already gone to bed. Sarah might still be around, but he doubted he would see her.

            Keeping secrets was hard. Chuck wondered if it would ever get any easier. From the looks of things, they probably weren’t.


	7. Sam vs. the Rules

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: 3/15/2015 - just changed a few minor details. They'll become more important later.

**Chapter Seven**

**Sam vs. the Rules**

The first thing Sam wanted to do that next morning was to see California.

All of it.

Then Sarah showed up after breakfast, offering Sam to come to the beach with her. Wondering if Sarah could read minds, Sam immediately accepted. Chuck provided no input to the decision, but in fact looked rather relieved when Sam left. It made Sam think maybe he didn't like all the questions she had been asking over her cereal – as to why, she had no idea.

Sarah was nice about it, though, much more tolerant of Sam than she was yesterday. Sam had learned her lesson and avoided the topic of Sarah and Chuck's relationship (even though she still didn't know what the problem was). Sarah even agreed with Sam when she mentioned how awkward Hannah made dinner last night, although Sarah hadn't said a single word to Hannah that entire night.

In the car ride to the beach, Sam was finally starting to relax a little. Her questions finally being answered, her brain didn't feel as overloaded as it had before – she now knew that Hannah and Chuck were no longer together (Sarah told her it was a long story and didn't explain further); everyone owned a phone because it was convenient, not because they were government-sanctioned tracking devices; cars were everywhere because they were the fastest way to travel, except in 5 o'clock traffic, which Sarah described as "murder". Sam imagined drivers killing each other to steal the next car ahead and wondered why there wasn't some law against it yet.

Texting was why everyone was walking with their face focused on their phones, and texting was sending text messages to each other, as well as being why teenage literacy had taken a nosedive for the past couple years. Sam figured that was why her mother hadn't given her a cell phone – maybe she was afraid the device would turn Sam into a Neanderthal.

They arrived at the sandy, palm tree-lined coast in about thirty minutes. Sarah had to drive around for another ten searching for a parking spot, because the boardwalk was loaded with pedestrians, shopping and eating and taking pictures.

"It's a tourist fly trap," Sarah explained as they got out of the car. "They come all over the country – the world, even – to buy cheap souvenirs and get sunburns."

She sounded a little sour. Sam blinked at her. "What's wrong with cheap souvenirs?"

Sarah glanced at the teen before moving on, Sam following close behind. They weaved through the crowds on the sidewalk. Pedestrians had wandered onto the street, there were so few cars out, and those that were had to drive really slowly to get through. "Just...it's nothing. Do public places make you nervous?"

"Not really," Sam was more enthralled than scared of all the people around her. She liked the palm trees, how their bark overlapped like dead leaves and green spiky leaves grew at the top like a funny wig. She smelled food everywhere, all kinds of things she'd never seen or heard of before. A man was selling something called "Hotdogs! Get your hotdogs here!" and she immediately wandered over, mouth watering at the smell.

Sarah followed like a beleaguered assistant. She drew Sam away from the stand, saying, "You just ate, Sam. Let's go find you some clothes, so you don't have to wear the same thing every day."

Sam didn't think there was anything wrong with her clothes right now – although, yes, they were the same from yesterday and she didn't have any spares...or pajamas. She slept in these, too. But it was easier not to have to decide what to wear every day. But they were also starting to smell, and Sam eventually agreed that maybe having choices wouldn't be so bad.

Thankfully, there were plenty of outlets here on the boulevard. Venice Beach, as Sam learned this place was called, was filled with stores selling cheap clothes to anyone who came by. Granted, a lot of them said _I 3 LA_ or something along those lines, nothing Sarah considered worth buying, but Sam actually liked it. Although she was only living here for the summer, she wanted something to show her mother once she got back to Montana.

Sarah, however, was not to be pleased by mere tourist fodder. There were department stores, too, places that sold "branded" items. Sarah explained to Sam that these clothes were generally more durable, fancier, and somewhat more costly. But life as a police officer must have been a good one, because Sarah didn't seem bothered by having to pay for the expensive stuff.

Sam was acutely aware that Sarah was still carrying a gun. A concealed one, of course, although it seemed so unnecessary in a place like this. Everyone was so nice and friendly, but Sarah had to constantly pull her away from vendors trying to sell their wares. Sam just thought they were being nice, but Sarah explained that they just do that to soften you up and convince you to buy their overpriced products. There was much Sam had to learn before she could be responsible for her own money.

But Sarah still let Sam choose what clothing she wanted to get. They travelled from store to store, picking out clothes and trying them on – as much as Sam wanted to try those hot-rod red high heels, Sarah pointed out that she had no occasion for them and when trying heels, it was best to start small – not with four-inch pumps that were bound to give Sam a sprained ankle.

They eventually ended up in one of many stores with various animal logos. This one was a moose – which Sam found odd, because she didn't think she'd find any on the beach in California. Dogs and eagles, sure, those were everywhere, but moose were usually found in more temperate parts of the continent. When she tried to discuss this with a store clerk, the woman just gave Sam a blank look, and then asked if she needed help finding anything. Sam, realizing that the entire point was lost on the clerk, decided to give up and shook her head, moving on.

When the day started to warm up, she and Sarah got ice cream. They hung out in the shade of the ice cream shop's canopy, talking about their bought items, the weather, the people walking by. Sam wanted to know everyone's story, why they were here, what they were looking for. After one bad incident where she asked a man arguing on his cell phone who he was talking to (his wife, who was a perfectly fine woman according to him, she later found out, after getting chewed out for being nosy and disrespectful), Sarah had to tell Sam that intruding on people's lives isn't polite and she should only do it if she had a good reason. Sam was a little discouraged by this – how was she supposed to meet people if she needed to give them their wallet, first? Pick pocketing really didn't sound like something Sarah would approve of, although Sam was itching to try her hand at it.

Sarah seemed more worried as time went on, although she did her best to hide it. Sam couldn't tell what it was, but every time Sam talked to a person, Sarah always got involved: it was usually something Sam said. She learned many things that day: she wasn't allowed to tell someone the honest truth if they asked her "Does my butt look big in these jeans?" or "Do you think this hair cut accents my features?" Why strangers asked Sam for her opinion when she wasn't allowed to talk to them in turn made for some very frustrating rules (Why did she have to follow them but no one else?), and Sam did her best to listen. But more often than not, her mouth got away with itself.

Sam told the woman with the jeans that maybe they were made for someone who was a hundred forty pounds, not a hundred and sixty. The woman gasped at her, mortified and enraged, declaring that she was _one-thirty-five pounds, for your information_ before turning on her heel with a huff of indignation. Sam didn't know what the problem was: her mother had taught her how to gauge weight and Sam had never been wrong before.

The woman was not pleased with Sam's answer, who didn't know why anyone would ask her about haircuts. Sam didn't even know there was such a thing called "layering," never mind "highlights" or "foiling." Her hair just grew, in whatever fashion it wanted to be in that morning. What did the woman expect when Sam told her that her haircut made her head look like a football?

Sarah told her that sometimes people need confirmation of their appearance, if it's approving or not. But Sam didn't understand. Why would someone ask if they didn't want the truth? Dying your hair blond wasn't going to make your head shaped any less than a football.

"There're those kinds of people who're just fishing for compliments," Sarah informed her. "People who are insecure, who have low self-esteem. Sometimes it's just nicer to tell them a white lie and that they look pretty or handsome or whatever."

Sam wasn't comfortable with this idea, but if it meant making someone feel better, she felt she could probably do it if she absolutely had to.

Sam tried to find out if Sarah really was a police officer, but Sarah always changed the subject. As the day wore on and their arms got heavier with bags (Sarah got herself some things as well, including a set of kitchen knives which she did not explain), Sam noticed Sarah looking more beleaguered and wondered if the weight of their bags, seven in all, was taking its toll on her. Sarah finally had to take a break and went inside the Roosevelt Hotel, letting Sam wait in a nearby cafe. Sam waited at a circular table, munching on a sprinkled donut and gulping down water – California was much hotter than Montana and Sam found she was sweating much more than her body could handle without extra hydration.

While she waited, she observed the passerby, each time resisting the urge to get up and talk to them. Most of these people were just getting coffee, including some repeats who couldn't get enough frappuchinos or mochalattas or whatever they were called. Some were businessmen, dressed in suits and carrying briefcases, some were teenagers in plaid wearing thick glasses with no lenses, and others were various dog-walkers, yoga instructors, and tourists looking for a snack. A particular group of people caught Sam's attention: a clique of three girls who had just walked into the cafe, linked arm and arm and laughing in an incredibly high-pitched and annoying way. They all had super-straight blond hair and wore jeans as tight as wetsuits, with shirts that exposed their bellybuttons (which were pierced – Sam saw this and winced; who in their right minds would poke their skin in holes like that? Didn't it hurt?).

The way they talked, almost in synchronization, constantly repeating what each other said like they weren't sure they heard it – had Sam absolutely fascinated. Who were these girls? Where they telepathic or something? They were finishing each other's sentences with alarming accuracy. How did one attain a level of friendship like that? It seemed unreal, impossible.

They were talking about someone else, someone they knew at 'school', whatever that was. Blonde Number 1 said, "...raised her hand and, like, stuck her nose in the air, like she totally knew better than us what a Lift-Split was?"

"I swear, I don't know what Lora was, like, thinking, letting her on the team?" Blond Number 2 said, tossing her head and making her hair ripple in perfect waves. "Like, was she braindead or something? Everyone knows Jessie, is like, totally going to ruin the team..."

"And she's, like, a total _spaz_ , you know?" Blonde Number 3 said, reaching for her coffee and making a silly face to her friends, who giggled right on cue. "Like, if we miss a step or, like, don't stand in the right place or, like, don't hold our arms up at third-degree angles or something, she totally, like, like...?"

Blonde Number 3 had trouble finding the word she wanted. Blonde Number 1 supplied, "...Spazzes out, right? I know what you mean; she gets this, like, look in her eyes and you just know, like, she gonna give you, like, detention or something?"

They kept ending their sentences with an upward inflection, like they were always asking a question, which bugged the hell out of Sam when none of them provided a sufficient answer. She also had no idea what a 'spaz' was and had to recite square roots in her head as a distraction to keep herself from walking up to those girls and asking what the word meant. She desperately wanted Sarah to come back so they could leave and she could think of something else.

When the trio's laughter became so much that Sam's head was starting to hurt, she decided that she might as well wait outside for Sarah. It wouldn't hurt, would it? She would just stay right there, in the courtyard, where Sarah could see in case she got worried again...

Unfortunately, Sam's plan to stay by the Hotel didn't exactly work out like she thought it would.

Although she no longer had to hear the girls' talk about 'spazzing' anymore, Sam now had to deal with the entirely new predicament of not getting distracted by everything else outside. She managed to stay by the storefront for a couple minutes before noticing the tourist shop across the street and told herself, "Maybe a minute wouldn't hurt..." and wandering over, promising to only peek and go back to the cafe right away. She kept repeating that, five stores later, on a street she didn't recognize.

Oh, boy.

It was getting dark out. Sam looked around, hoping to spot a familiar landmark, but her inner map was incomplete. The Roosevelt Hotel had mysteriously disappeared – did Sam really walk that far away? In her distracted state she had forgotten to notice her surroundings when she wandered around, and now she had no way to get back to Sarah, no way to contact her. She looked around, hoping maybe she'd get lucky and spot the blond woman close by, but found herself lost in a crowd of unfamiliar faces. They pushed her about, tossing Sam back and forth like a ping-pong ball. She managed to find a lamppost and cling to it, resisting the current of pedestrians.

Sam kept looking but Sarah never appeared. The girl wondered if she could find her way back home – she had at least remembered the path the car took to get to Venice Beach, although how to get to the car was another question on its own. Could she perhaps walk back, if she could? The highway was North-East of here, it couldn't be _that_ hard to find, could it? How long would it take to get back? Sam would resort to walking if she had to, but a car ride would be more efficient. Would someone here take her home?

A man across the street waved his arms, whistling. At first, Sam thought he was trying to get her attention – if not, what in the world was he doing? But then a small yellow sedan pulled up to the man and he got inside, speaking to the driver and giving him money. Sam watched, fascinated, as the driver took the money from a stranger and drove off without another word, weaving around traffic like a deranged beetle. Could she do the same?

Sam mimicked the man's actions, looking out for other yellow cars. Now that she was searching for them, she noticed that they had the word 'TAXI' written on the sides. But none came towards her, taken by other pedestrians who waved harder, whistled louder.

Discouraged, Sam was about to give up and look for Sarah again when a giant blue bus pulled up in front of her. The doors opened on their own, revealing steps and a man at the wheel, who nodded at her. Sam grinned, pleased with her luck – this was even better than a taxi!

When she got inside, the man asked for payment and Sam pulled a twenty from her backpack - making sure to give him the right currency first. He gave her change and let her pass to the seats behind. Sam chose one by the window, gazing down at the passing heads beneath – she felt like a giant among men.

It wasn't until the bus started again did Sam realized the bus driver did not ask to know where she lived. But he seemed so sure of what he was doing that Sam refrained from standing up and speaking to him. There was also a sign that disallowed walking the aisle while the bus was moving and Sam didn't want the man to get angry with her and kick her off the bus. Sarah had told her to follow the rules of establishments, otherwise they have every right to remove her from the premises.

The sky was turning indigo and orange. The soft purr of the engine and rumble of the tires lulled Sam to sleep.

OoOoO

The sound of brakes screeching woke her up. Sam jolted, looking around. It was still dark out. In fact, darker still – the sun was gone, the moon was out, and there wasn't a star in the sky. Only a few lampposts were on outside the bus, lighting a barren sidewalk they had stopped at.

The bus driver called, "Last stop! Everybody off!"

Sam was one of the few left on the bus. They were as bleary-eyed as she felt. They filed off the vehicle. Picking up her bag, her only luggage, Sam shuffled after them. It wasn't until she hit the pavement and looked up at the cold, dark buildings did she realize she was still in the city – and nowhere near Burbank.

She whipped around, panic forming a lump in her throat. "Wait, I don't –!"

But the bus had already taken off in a burst of wind. Sam was all alone in a city she did not recognize.

It was bad enough she did not know where she was. But the fact that she fell asleep and hadn't remembered the route the bus took meant she was even more lost than before. Now she had no idea of how to get back to her starting point.

Her mother's words filled her head: _when lost, don't wander_. _It just makes it harder for your allies to find you_.

The other piece of advice was: _don't stay in one spot for too long or you'll attract attention. Keep moving, find landmarks, a place to hide and rest_.

Sam didn't know which one should be applied in this situation. Surely Sarah had noticed Sam was gone by nose, maybe she was looking for her at this very moment. But Sam's mental clock told her she had been out for over five hours. She wasn't even sure if she was in Venice Beach anymore.

 _Scritch-scratch_.

Sam whipped around, alarmed by the sudden noise. She saw a shadow flinch in the dark corners of a building, outside the light of the lamppost. She peered at it, waiting to see if it would move again, or if it was just her imagination. She called out, "Hello? Who's there?"

The shadow crept forward, taking the shape of a hunched man, hobbling drunkenly on his feet. A combination of alcohol, leering smile, and a ten-foot stench had Sam backing away from him almost immediately. This was _not_ someone she wanted to talk to. He said to her, "Hey, there, little lady, you looking for a good time?"

"Actually, I'm looking for Sarah," Sam corrected, entertaining the possibility that this man could help her. "Do you know her?"

The man, with his scraggly beard and off-center hat, hesitated and gave Sam a strange look before starting to nod. He smiled encouragingly and beckoned with his hand, saying, "Yeah...yeah, I know Sarah. I'll take you to her. And we can have fun together, you know?"

Sam frowned. Sarah didn't like fun. "I don't believe you."

The man lurched forward, grabbing Sam's arm just as she tried to dodge out of the way. He bared rotten yellow teeth at her, more of a grimace than a grin. "Too bad. I've got an old ache I need to work out and you're the cure, honey. So why don't you –"

He didn't get a chance to tell Sam what she should do before she punched him in the throat.

The man gagged, releasing Sam immediately to clutch at his throat. She brought up her hands in defense, every motion clear in her mind. The world seemed to slow down for a few seconds as she waited for the man to retaliate. He did – turning around, letting out a tremendous roar, raising both fits in a vaguely gorilla-like manner.

Chest completely open, the man could not defend himself when Sam stepped back, putting all the weight on her hind foot as she raised her other leg and slammed the corner of her heel into the center of his chest.

He gasped again, falling the ground in a heap. Now fully incapacitated, he was no longer a threat, but Sam feared revenge and took off before he could get back up again. She ran and ran and ran, until she found herself in a slightly brighter corner of the city. She finally came to a stop at a bench with a canopy over it, taking cover underneath. The sides were covered in black graffiti but at least there was no one inside to attack her.

Sam didn't know what else to do. She hugged her shoulders, wishing she had brought that new sweater with her, at least something to stay warm or make a pillow out of. The only option now was to sleep and wait until morning, when the stores would reopen and allow her access to resources.

So she settled on the bench, resting her head against the side of the canopy. Sam tried to cheer herself up – after all, she'd slept under worse conditions than this. So she tried to get some rest on the bench that night, only to be woken up far too soon by the sound of whispers and piercing daylight sneaking its way beneath her eyelids.

"... _you think we should say something_...?" a girl's voice whispered. She had a strange accent, one Sam had never heard before.

" _...just leave her there. She could be homeless..._ " came a boy's reply. He had the same accent at the girl. He went on to say, " _She could be dangerous. If we wake her up, she might attack us._ "

" _Oh, don't be so paranoid, Alex, she's no more dangerous than your average teenager,_ " the girl scoffed. There came the sound of footsteps getting closer and Sam felt a finger prod her shoulder. The girl's voice was right behind her, yet still soft, when she said, "Hey, miss, wake up! I think your bus is here. You probably shouldn't miss it!"

Sam wanted the voices to go away – it was far too early to deal with strangers today. She was still exhausted from yesterday, the day out shopping with Sarah on Venice Beach. Oh, no, Sarah!

Sam jerked up, remembering she was still lost, that she still had no idea where she was. She looked around wildly, at first blinded by the sunlight and startled by the strangers staring at her. Then she shook her head and focused on their faces, now clear in the adjusted lighting. The girl smiled at her, friendly if a little concerned.

She had silky brown hair and tanned skin, wearing a flowery sundress and sparkly jewelry. The girl reminded Sam of those models she saw at the clothing stores, always so pretty and perfect. She had a smile to match, too, two straight rows of white pearls. "Hey, are you all right? Did you sleep here all night?"

"Yeah, I-I..." Sam was still having trouble remembering how she got here. The process was not helped by the new surroundings she was forced to take in. There was a boy behind the girl, leaning against the canopy with his arms crossed. Tall, blond, a sharp jaw, dirty sneakers. He wasn't looking at her, seemed completely disinterested, maybe even a little grumpy. She turned her attention back to the girl, who was still smiling expectantly at Sam. She finally managed to utter, "Where-Where am I?"

"Where are you?" the girl laughed in disbelief, turning to the boy behind her as if needing to confirm what she had heard. The boy barely even glanced at them, seemed focused on the incoming bus making its way through morning traffic. The girl turned back to Sam, shaking her head as she said, "Where do you think you are, silly? You're in San Francisco!"

Oh, no. Sam felt her stomach drop to her feet. This was even worse than she thought. She wasn't just in wrong neighborhood anymore.

Sam was in completely different city.


	8. Alex vs. Van Gogh

**Chapter Eight**

**Alex vs. Van Gogh**

 

            Alex did not like the idea of bringing the girl with them.

            But Sabina was not to be argued with. Once she had asked the girl if she had been the Vanderbilt museum (the girl hadn’t), there was nothing to keep her from coming with them. Alex knew that only vehement refusal on the girl’s part would prevent Sabina from getting what she wanted. Of course, the girl accepted – why wouldn’t she? They were the only two people who talked to her.

            Everything about this girl set him on edge. The way she twitched in the direction of every sound she heard, the way she stared at them for too long, gazing directly into his eyes whenever Alex spoke, and didn’t look at anything else while he did. How her fingers couldn’t seem to stop moving, tapping, massaging, scratching. Not a hint of embarrassment or self-consciousness in those unwavering blue eyes. The eyes of an assassin.

            He felt guilty as soon as the thought crossed his mind. Alex knew practically nothing about the girl and already his paranoia was telling him she was a cold-blooded killer. While he was determined to give her another chance and prove his paranoia wrong, Alex still felt this girl was more than a little odd. There were weirdos even in the normal world, not necessarily dangerous but still pretty annoying. If it bothered Sabina, she did not let on.

            On the bus, Sabina decided to get to know as much about the girl as possible. The girl introduced herself as Samantha, but they could call her Sam since it was shorter.

            “So, Sam, where are you from?” Sabina asked, leaning against the seat in front of her. Sam had her back against the window so she look at the both of them as she talked to Sabina. Sabina waved with her hand, “I take it you’re not from the City by the Bay, since you looked so surprised when I told you.”

            “My family lives in Los Angeles.” Sam told them, frowning at her tangled fingers. Her hair was a mess, her clothes dirty and worn – Alex still thought she was homeless until she said, “Burbank, Echo Park. I don’t think they know I’m here.”

            “You ran away?” Sabina’s eyebrows shot up. Even Alex looked up to gauge the girl’s expression, wondering just what had brought her all the way here.

            “N-no, I just took a bus.” Sam shook her head, apparently concentrating on the toes of her shoes. Alex decided that she seemed awfully calm if she was lost, although Sam didn’t say it in as many word. “It brought me here. Then a weird old guy attacked me – he smelled really bad and I don’t think he brushed his teeth in a really long time – so I ran and ended up at that bench.”

            “I think you got on an intercity bus or something,” Sabina said, frowning a girl who clearly had no business being on her own wandering around in a giant city. “They usually go pretty far. Maybe we can find a phone and call your family. I mean, you’re not lost, are you?”

            “N-no!” Sam exclaimed, looking oddly alarmed by the question. Maybe she was too proud to admit that she had no idea where she was. “Uh, no, I’m fine. I don’t think I’m in any trouble. I mean, it’s not like San Francisco is very far from Los Angeles, is it?”

            “Yeah, it’s a stone’s throw away,” Alex snorted to himself. Was she kidding? It took almost six hours to get from here to Los Angeles, and that was on a good day. Traffic could be terrible, especially on weekends. Alex noted her thread-bare t-shirt and worn jeans that belonged to a place of colder weather. Her trainers were the only odd thing about the ensemble – bright green, looking almost new. The shoelaces were still white. They had to be custom made. The paranoid part of his mind said she must have stolen them, and he told it to shut up.

            “Oh, good,” Sam smiled, relieved. “I’ll be fine.”

            Sabina threw a wide-eyed look at him, as if to say: _Can you believe her_? Alex could tell by this expression that she realized Sam was not capable of being left to her own devices and was not about to let the girl out of her sight if she could help it. He groaned inwardly. He had hoped this to be a minor event for the day, but apparently Sam was going to hang around a little longer than that.

            So Sabina said to the girl, “Well, um, you can hang out with us until you have to go home. How about that?”

            Sam just shrugged, looking back up at smiling girl. She looked cornered with Sabina watching over her like that – a piece of prey being evaluated for its meat. Alex could understand why Sam would look so nervous with a person like Sabina focused on them. Sam twitched when a motorcycle zoomed by, eyelids flickering as she turned her head to watch it go. “I just moved to California yesterday. I don’t really know anything about here. What’s the Vanderbilt?”

            “It’s an art museum, full of paintings by famous artists,” Sabina explained with a flourish of her hand. “Like Degas, Monet, Van Gogh, the greats! There are also some cool sculptures there, too. According to my teacher, it can change our entire perspective on life. Whatever that means.”

            Alex had hoped Sam would say no, museums aren’t really her thing, but could only groan inwardly when she said instead, “Um, okay, I guess. This museum thing sounds interesting. I’ve never seen much art before.”

            Sabina grinned at her, clapping her hands together with excitement. “Excellent! This is going to be so much fun, you’ll love the Vanderbilt. Am I right, Alex?”

            She turned to him for back-up but when Alex just gave her a half-hearted shrug, Sabina kicked him with her foot and glared at him. “Come on, Alex, don’t be such a spoilsport.” She turned to an oblivious Sam and flashed a nervous smile. “Alex loves museums; he just doesn’t like to talk much.”

            “Why?” Sam had the audacity ask. When people usually learned that Alex was the quiet type, they respected this and left it alone. But Sam looked genuinely interested and neither Sabina nor Alex knew how to explain it to her. Was she really being serious? Sam seemed to notice their expressions and slumped backwards, starting to look a little disappointed. “Oh. Is that something I’m not allowed to ask?”

            “No, it’s fine, really,” Sabina said, struggling to repair the situation. Maybe it wasn’t Sam’s fault for not knowing, although Alex was starting to question the girl’s sanity – her legitimacy – if she managed to get herself so unbelievably lost (Seriously? Los Angeles?) with such little common sense. Sam belonged in an asylum, not on a bus with two other teenagers who were not experts with crazy people. “That’s just his thing, you know? Some people are talkative – like me – and some people like to keep to themselves.” Then, in a whisper she thought Alex couldn’t hear, “He’s been through a lot, so take it easy on him. He doesn’t like to talk much about anything, really.”

            “Oh, okay,” Sam nodded like this made complete sense, although Alex could see that look in her eye: undying curiosity. It was probably killing her not knowing what secrets Alex had. Ha, she had no idea she was better off staying ignorant. “I guess. Where are you guys from? I’ve never heard your accents before.”

            Alex stared at her. For the first time, he actually addressed her. “You...you’re joking, right?”

            “No, really, I don’t know,” Sam said, her gaze switching from Sabina to Alex then back again. She raised a little bit from her seat, expecting an answer. She then explained, “I’ve lived in Montana my entire life; I have literally no idea what different accents sound like.”

            “England,” Sabina said in a completely flat voice, speaking like a teacher to a kindergartener. She frowned at the girl, clearly unable to tell if she was being truthful or not. “You were really sheltered, huh?”

            “Chuck said that, too!” Sam exclaimed, holding up a finger. She elaborated when they gave her strange looks. “He’s, um, my cousin. You should’ve seen their expressions when I told them my mom never let me watch movies. I mean, it’s not that big a deal, is it?”

            “No, no, it’s not,” Sabina shook her head, a little hesitant now. Maybe she was finally having second thoughts about having Sam hang around. “I’ve met some sheltered people before, but you seriously take the cake. Does your mom just hate movies, or TV in general?”

            “We had a radio.” Sam said, like it would make up for everything else. “Sometimes we even got music stations.”

            “A true blessing,” Alex muttered under his breath, crossing his arms. If this Sam was being serious, then yeah, she was a little crazy. But if she was doing this for attention, or worse...it was a cover story of some sort, and there was some ulterior motive to this lying, then Alex wanted nothing to do with her. He wondered if it was possible to convince Sabina to ditch Sam at the museum and head home a little earlier than planned.

            Sabina heard him and gave him another kick, throwing him a disapproving look that said: _Be nice or I’ll tell Mom_. Mrs. Pleasure was always nice to Alex, but she didn’t approve of any rudeness outside the house. Alex could be quiet if he wanted to, but he wasn’t allowed to make fun of people he didn’t like. It was one of the rules he had to live by ever since he moved in with the Sabina’s family over a year ago. It seemed he had adjusted better than Sam had with her family – at least he didn’t get lost within the first forty-eight hours of living in a new city.

            At some point, the bus stopped to pick up some more people. It was reasonably full in here – a low roar of chatter that gave Alex a sense of safety (although Sam started acting even more erratically than before, all that twitching and stuff). Anonymous in this random group of people, of old ladies and pregnant woman and men with briefcases and various young adults listening to music or playing with their phones, he felt invisible. Even though Alex no longer needed to worry about being made, it was still a reassuring thought.

            Sam and Sabina were in the middle of discussing music, with Sabina providing her iPod to introduce Sam to the latest and hottest on the charts. Sam seemed fascinated by this tiny device that played music although Alex couldn’t actually tell if she liked what she heard or not. He allowed himself to drift, studying the other passengers and making up stories for their lives; completely normal, boring biographies where nothing really exciting or dangerous happened, where they didn’t have to constantly worry if their life was in danger, or if their family might one day get kidnapped or murdered.

            God, a life like that – Alex couldn’t believe he had something that close to it. Sometimes it felt too good to be true. But this has been the longest stretch of time where a gun hasn’t been pointed at him or someone he cared about. It was refreshing.

            There came a sudden shout from the front of the bus. Everyone looked in the direction of three Asian men, in baggy pants and white unbuttoned shirts, arguing in a foreign language. They had stood up in their seats, were pushing against each other’s chest. One seemed to be fighting with the other two, outmatched in a disagreement.

            Sabina frowned at them, concerned. “I wonder what they’re saying. It looks pretty bad.”

            Alex thought they looked like gangsters. They didn’t look particularly badass – they couldn’t have been older than their early twenties, late teens at best, and none of them were carrying a gun. Probably just guys who thought looking like rappers made them cool or something. Alex quickly lost interest, at least until Sam said, “They’re speaking Cantonese.”

            “You can tell?” he asked, eyes narrowing on a girl who couldn’t recognize an English accent when she heard one. Oh, sure, accents were completely out of left-field, but the languages themselves were fair game. It just seemed completely backwards to him. “Do you know what they’re saying?”

            Alex could speak several languages, a fact he kept to himself. Spanish, French, and Italian were the ones he used most often. He was curious as to how a Montanan like Sam could recognize a language she probably never heard before.

            “I think so...” Sam sat up straighter in her seat, squinting at the arguing Asians as she tried to unscramble their words – they were yelling over one another and the sound of the bus brakes screeching didn’t help. “Something about a ‘job’ and ‘payment’. One of them made a mistake and they’re trying to figure out who’s really to blame. I guess their boss isn’t a very nice man.”

            Hmm, actual gangsters. Alex just smirked and crossed his arms, settling back into his seat. Well, they certainly weren’t the most intimidating gangsters he actually saw, not to mention poorly equipped. He didn’t particularly care if their boss was a ‘nice man’ or not. Anyone stupid enough to get caught up in a gang probably didn’t deserve to last very long.

            Sam fiddled with a ring on her finger, watching in silence as the Asian men were kicked off the bus. They shook their fists and made obscene gestures to the bus driver, but he just closed the door in their faces and spit out exhaust as he left them behind.

            Completely nonchalantly, Sam wondered aloud, “Maybe they’ll work it out.”

            Alex laughed before he could stop himself. Sam’s gaze flicked to him and he instantly regretted it. She asked, “What’s so funny?”

            He shook his head, wondering if she was really so clueless. Alex made a face as he said, “Well, you don’t honestly think that, do you?”

            “Think what?”

            “That those guys back there will work it out,” Alex said, even though Sabina was throwing him a death glare behind the seat. She seemed to say: _shut up NOW!_ But Alex just jerked his chin up rather arrogantly when he added, “The way they were arguing at each other’s throats? Yeah, I’m sure they’ll work it out.”

            Sam blinked at him. “If you’re so sure, then what’s the problem?”

            “I...” Alex hesitated, not understanding what Sam was on about. Was she trying to psych him out? It was surprisingly devious for someone so naive. “I was being sarcastic. You know what that is, don’t you?”  
  
            “Alex!” Sabina hissed, scandalized. It was hard to be discreet with Sam right there, but Sabina tried anyways. She jabbed him with her finger, ordering, “Don’t be a jerk!”

            He eased away from her, considering arguing the point, but then started to feel guilty. Alex scowled at his feet. It wasn’t his fault Sam made it so easy. He still didn’t trust her, although she seemed completely oblivious. “Yeah, whatever.”

            The rest of the bus ride was spent with Sabina trying to distract Sam from Alex, and Alex being quiet and unobtrusive. Sam didn’t seem bothered at all by their argument, easily breaking her gaze from him to engage in another conversation with Sabina. If she had any grudges, she wasn’t showing them. Maybe Sam was one of those forgive and forget types. Either way, neither girl talked to him until they reached the museum.

            The Westerveldt, like any museum, was large and cold and echoic. People talked quietly amongst themselves, the only loud noises were their footsteps. Even the lady at the front counter, who gave them their visitor stickers, typed silently away on her computer. With security guards at every other entrance, this type of quiet felt enforced and not nearly as satisfying when Alex did it to be gloomy and annoying.

            They took some brochures (mostly for Sam’s benefit) and walked around, their little tour aimless. Sam had to reprimanded by a guard for getting too close to a painting and it had to be explained that she could not touch any of the artwork, no matter how much she wanted to. Sam at first tried to fight the point, but acquiesced when a museum curator told her that the oil on her fingers could ruin the painting which was, by the way, over a hundred years old, a historical artefact, and nearly priceless.

            Sam kept to herself after that. Alex wasn’t sure if he should snicker or sympathize – perhaps if she was upset enough, they would leave. But Sam’s interest was rekindled upon wandering into the sculpture garden, which definitely seemed more her speed. Three dimensional objects were apparently easier for her to observe and understand.

            Sam seemed particularly entranced with the Thinker - a naked man sitting on a rock, fist on chin as he studied the ground. It was a replica of the original, cast in bronze. They stared at it for fifteen minutes before Sam wondered aloud. “I wonder what he’s thinking about. It must me hard when he has no clothes on.”

            “He’s probably wondering where he left them.” Alex replied. He was no art aficionado and the true meaning of the Thinker eluded him. He didn’t particularly care to find out.

            Sam’s face brightened with a smile, one of enlighten and relief. “Oh, that makes sense!”

            Sabina ducked her head to hide a snicker. Alex cast a sidelong glance at her, trying not to look like he was enjoying himself. Sam just made it too easy.

            Having been given a satisfactory answer, Sam no longer seemed interested with the statue. She moved on to the next piece, an abstract piece made out of old tires. It had her distracted long enough for Alex to stay behind and whisper to Sabina in private.

            “Are we really going to deal with her all day?” He asked under his breath.

            Sabina narrowed her eyes. “As a matter of fact, I think we will. Just because you’re in a rotten mood doesn’t mean we’re going to ditch Sam. Besides, I think she’s funny in a...weird kind of way.”

            “Oh, come on.” Alex groaned, then pointed at Sam to demonstrate his point. “Just look at her! She belongs in the loony bin.”

            His timing was impeccable. Just as Sabina looked over, Sam was chasing pigeons across the garden, drawing the attention of other visitors. Her laughter pierced the air, making Alex wince. As the birds flew over the walls that bordered the garden, Sam picked up a small rock and threw it. It flew, almost invisible through the air. Alex thought it fell too short, but there was a loud squawk and a pigeon went down in a flurry of feathers past the wall. There was the sound of leaves crunching as the bird crashed into the bushes below.

            A woman let out a scandalized gasp, hand flying over her mouth as she stared at Sam, then yanked her children away before they could ask about the bird or the girl who killed it. Other people were quickly leaving the scene, muttering amongst themselves and throwing cautious looks at her.

            Sam was beside herself in victory. She threw her arms up in the air and said, “Yeah, bull’s-eye!”

            Alex gave Sabina a pointed look. “See? She’s crazy!”

            Sabina started to look doubtful, but her desire to win the argument took priority over admitting Alex was right. “Well, so...she’s a little eccentric. But there’s nothing wrong with that. We’ll just have to tell her she can’t kill animals whenever she feels like it. I can’t believe she actually hit the bird...”

            Neither did Alex. Not only was Sam completely unaware of animal rights, she had a frighteningly accurate throwing arm. Alex wanted to chalk it up to dumb luck – a flock of pigeons all in one spot, Sam had a good chance of hitting one of them anyways, whether or not they were the one she was aiming at. But Sam’s reaction seemed to confirm the idea that she hit her intended target.

            Sabina ran over to the girl before she could slaughter more wildlife. As his adoptive sister quickly explained things in a hushed voice, Alex looked around, scanning for any signs of trouble. He didn’t expect to find any in a museum, but he wouldn’t be surprised if Sam managed to do something stupid again and get them kicked out.

            The headed back inside after that little scene. Alex expected someone to come and reprimand Sam for hurting the bird, but no one did. He supposed the people here could care less about the flying city rats – one bird out of thousands would hardly make a difference to the local wildlife.

            He didn’t say that to either girl; Sabina would flip a lid if she heard such cruel thoughts. And it would only provoke Sam into killing more.

            They went into the Van Gogh exhibit. Sam seemed fascinated by the strange style of painting – post-impressionism, if she bothered to read any of the informational plaques (which she didn’t). Far away the images made sense – portraits, trees, still life of sun flowers and landscapes of orchards. But upon closer inspection, one would see the separate blobs of pain, one on top of another, in strange and sometimes clashing colours.

            Sabina was listening to a commentary on Van Gogh on a pair of headphones. With no one else around to talk to (Sam had tried to start a conversation with some scholarly types and a couple seemingly on a date, but only managed to scare them all off), Sam of course walked up to him. They were looking at a self-portrait of Van Gogh, the one with a bandage around his head and what appeared to be a black balaclava.

            “Why is he wearing that thing on his head?” Sam asked, probably referring to the bandage.

            Alex begrudgingly informed her some background on the artist. “He got his ear cut off in a fight with some other artist, Gauguin or something.”

            “Who’s Gauguin?” she asked, apparently not caring whether they stayed on topic or not. Did she just spout off whatever question popped up into her head?

            “He was Van Gogh’s friend.”

            “Did he paint, too?”

            Alex had no idea. “Probably, I don’t know. Does it matter?”

            Sam just shrugged, apparently not catching from the tone in Alex’s voice that he wanted to be left alone. She had the annoying trait of being completely unresponsive to rude behaviour. “So if Gagging was his friend, why did he cut of Van Gogh’s ear?”

            “They got into a big fight. It was probably just an accident.” Alex said, trying to ignore the fact that she completely mispronounced Gauguin’s name. If those art history scholars were still there to hear her say that, they’d have a conniption.

            “Must have been a pretty big deal if it meant getting his ear cut off,” Sam surmised, actually being intelligent. “I wonder what it was about.”

            He hoped that question wasn’t directed at him. In a flat voice, he replied, “Who knows.”

            Sam blinked at him. “What did he do with the ear once it was cut off?”

            “Uh,” Alex was pretty sure that was irrelevant, but he surprised himself by knowing the answer. “He wrapped it up and gave it to some lady.”

            “Did she like decapitated ears?” Sam looked about as weirded out by the idea as he felt.

            “Probably not.”

            “Then why did he give it to her?”

            “Because he was crazy depressed, I don’t know!” Alex snapped, getting really annoyed that Sam wouldn’t just drop the matter. Who cared about the ear or what some stranger lady thought about it? It had no effect on her life, it had no effect on anyone’s life! He was starting to think she was doing this just to get on his nerves. “Just because it happened doesn’t mean it has to make sense.”

            Sam seemed blown away by this revelation. She shook her head, almost disbelieving. “But... but did he win the fight? I mean, could you imagine a situation where losing your ear would be worth it for something else?”

            Alex threw her a bewildered look. “What are you talking about?”

            She didn’t seem sure herself. “Well, if Van Gogh and Gagging were fighting about something important, like who got to have the last piece of moose meat, I mean losing your ear would probably be worth it if you survived the winter.”

            “That’s assuming Gauguin died in the process.”

            “Well, of course,” Sam said like this was obvious. “He didn’t get the moose meat, so he’d starve to death. But if it were _me_ in that situation, I’d share, but if Gagging wanted it all, I’d just knock him out, steal the meat, and run away, like anyone should.”

            “It’s only logical,” Alex replied, completely deadpan.

            “Yeah!” Sam nodded, not hearing the sarcasm at all. She smiled at him. “See, you get it! But can you think of something that would make losing your ear – or anything, really – still worth it in the end?”

            That question had him thinking longer than necessary. Alex should’ve been curt and just replied “no” but stopped when it didn’t feel honest. He got frustrated with himself for getting caught up in one of Sam’s stupid questions. What did it matter how he answered? Sam would just misinterpret it like she always seemed to do.

            The fact that, a little more than a year ago, Alex had faced with the very real threat of losing his ear, and his head along with it. On top of it all, he would be expected to make such a sacrifice, for the so-called Greater Good. If he died so others could live, then so be it. His opinion didn’t matter; it was duty that came first. Alex never had a choice before, so it was a little odd to be asked now. What made it even stranger was that Sam of all people was the one asking the question.

            Sam watched him with her unblinking, owlish eyes, remaining silent as she waited. Her patience surprised him, considering that she had an endless supply of energy just waiting to burst out of her at every single moment.

            When the staring started to unnerve him, Alex finally said, “Yes.”

            She blinked at him, just once. There was another short pause – Sam was waiting for him to elaborate.

            When he didn’t, she asked, “Why?”  
  
            Alex scowled at her; he answered her first question, what more could she possibly want? So he told her, “Because I had to. Don’t ask stupid questions.” Then walked away.

            He knew he had confounded Sam because she didn’t run after him with more inquiries. He found himself alone in another room, looking at another portrait of Van Gogh. The expression on the bearded man’s face matched Alex’s inner emotions. Frustrated, stressed, tired, all forced down and covered by a façade of stoic indifference.

            Sam’s question had nearly destroyed that façade by making Alex look too deep within himself. It made him return to old feelings and memories that he had worked so hard to bury.

            In the year that he lived with Sabina’s family, no one had come so close to revealing those inner thoughts. His therapist tried, but she at least tried to be decent about it – and that was the problem. Sabina, her parents, those people paid to care about him were too cautious around him. They were afraid to tread on his toes and risk him lashing out. He had left a hole in the wall of Dr. Lee’s office after the last time she asked about Jack. It was then covered by a poster of a kitten hanging onto a branch. Dr. Lee probably meant well, but it just made Alex feel like she was belittling his problems and could erase them with cute animals and happy thoughts.

            Alex glared at the portrait in front of him. Would it have killed Van Gogh to have smiled, even a little bit? Van Gogh seemed to be gloating at him, as though he were trying to say: _No friends, no family, just a fake image of yourself to present to the world. Guess what, you’re just like me. And you’ll end up just like me, turning the gun on yourself and pulling the trigger. Don’t pretend. You’re just delaying the inevitable._

            Even though they were just words inside his head, it made Alex want to rip the frame off the wall and throw it across the room. But since doing that would make Sam look like a tamed human being in comparison, he just glared at the painting and muttered, “You’re one to talk. You didn’t see half the stuff I did.”

            _Then why are you still alive?_ The portrait seemed to say.

            “Because I’m stronger than you,” Alex replied out loud. At least there was no one else there to hear him talking to an inanimate object. If Sam saw him, there would be no end to the questions. “I don’t give up that easily.”

            _The higher they stand, the harder they’ll fall_. The portrait chided. Alex had no idea what Van Gogh really sounded like, but in his head the voice was high-pitched and annoying. _You’ll go out with a bang. Just like your parents did. Just like Jack did. It’s the proper way to go for an ex-spy like you_.

            Alex was furious with himself, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He wanted to tell that little annoying voice to shut up but he knew it would have no effect. “Who cares what you think. You’re dead.”

            “Who’re you talking to?” came a voice behind him.

            Alex whipped around, caught off guard. He instinctively fell into a defensive position, but felt embarrassed when he realized it was just Sam, staring at him. Alex silently cursed himself for his outdated impulses and, hoping that Sam either didn’t see or didn’t understand why he was flushing, muttered, “No one. Just talking to myself.”

            “Oh, okay,” Sam nodded like this was a totally reasonable response and left it at that. For a moment, Alex appreciated the fact that she could accept some things other people thought were signs of insanity, but it was a fleeting thought. Her stare was starting to annoy him again. “Sabina says we’re going to the gift shop, and then we’re going home.”

            “Thank god,” Alex said, not even bothering to hide his relief.

            Sam just smiled at him, not offended in the least. “Sabina said you’d be glad to hear that. Come on, I want to see what a gift shop is.”

 

OoOoO

 

            They couldn’t get on the bus fast enough. By the time they left the museum, Alex was exhausted from all the art, Sabina was off on a topic about summer work, and Sam had acquired a Rubik’s cube. He had no idea how, he wasn’t even sure if she had money on her. He didn’t ask, however, because he didn’t want anyone to think he cared.

            Sabina made him sit next to Sam, because familiarity breeds contempt (she didn’t say that, but Alex felt like it was inevitable). But he was in a better mood now that they were going home and Sam was talking to Sabina. That left him alone, so Alex closed his eyes and tried to take a nap.

            The noise faded into the background. The nearby talking, soft girls voices, lulled him to a state between wakefulness and sleep. Alex was actually starting to feel relaxed when something kicked his leg and made him open his eyes and looked around.

            Alex almost did a double take when he realized Sam was against the windows, taking in the panoramic view of San Francisco. It wasn’t entirely unwarranted – they were in the middle of the city, surrounded by skyscrapers and monuments and people; the windows gave quite a spectacular sight. What caught Alex off guard was how her face was pressed against the glass and her wide eyes never resting for more than a couple seconds. He wondered if it was healthy for someone to be so captivated by a view and should be that close to a window. Alex felt like he should say something. “Uh, are you all right?”

            Sam didn’t seem to hear him and Alex had almost decided to just ignore her until she murmured, “It’s so big. It’s just so big.”

            Since Alex finally got a response, he sighed and sat up a little straighter. Why he was deciding to initiate the conversation, he had no idea. Maybe Alex _was_ going crazy. She didn’t look at him, but sidled aside ever so slowly, moving her feet away. “Well, yeah, it’s a city. You’re not trying to memorize this, are you?”

            This time, Sam looked at the seat. “...No.”

            “Sabina’s playing video games on her phone.” His adopted sister was currently tapping away on her Smartphone’s screen. From the music, it sounded like she was playing _Candy Crush_. Alex didn’t like it, but he was sure it was something Sam would be into. “Why don’t you let her show you?” He meant to turn her away from the glass to convince the girl to move, but she resisted, pulling away and pressing her nose even harder against the glass.

            “No!” She shook her head, closing her eyes and opening them again. “I’m – I’m not done yet. I have to...I have to...”

            Alex stared at her, then something occurred to him. “Sam...Do-do you have a photographic memory? Is that why you were trying to touch everything earlier, why you wanted to see everything? So you could remember it all?”

            “Maybe...I don’t know.” She shrugged, looking as helpless for an answer as Alex felt. Her shoulders slumped and she pulled herself away from the glass, turning to face the inside of the bus with her hands in her hair. “I just have to know what the city is like. I have to know where everything is. It was easy in Montana, in a small house...but here, it’s so much to take in. I feel like my head is going to explode. How do you handle all of that out there?”

            “We don’t. We just sort of...filter it out.” Alex told her. He was sure there was a name for what she had. OCD, ADD, ADHD and a whole alphabet soup of syndromes his therapist was likely to pin on the girl. That was one person Sam definitely did not need to meet. “Maybe you’re just missing them.”

            She nodded, but her expression didn’t change. Alex felt bad just leaving her there like that, so he looked around, hoping to find something that may distract her. He saw the Rubik’s cube in plastic bag on the floor, the one she had gotten from the museum. He retrieved it and handed it to Sam, “Have you played with this yet?”

            Alex knew the answer was no because the colours weren’t mixed up. If _Candy_ _Crush_ didn’t do the trick, then the most impossible puzzle ever had to.

            She stared at the toy for a second before taking it from his hand. Sam said, “Not really. What’s it supposed to do?”

            “You’re supposed to solve it.”

            “But it looks all ready solved.” Sam stared at him with the expression of a toddler being forced to answer calculus questions. Frustration and helplessness, almost on the verge of tears. She was being made to find an answer that was already there, and she couldn’t wrap her head around the problem.

            Alex obliged by taking the Rubik’s cube back and twisting the sides in a random order, trying to get it as mixed up as possible. He was a little annoyed that Sam couldn’t just do it herself but didn’t make a big deal about it, or else Sabina would get involved. It didn’t take too long and he gave the jumbled puzzle back to Sam, who stared at the toy like it was an alien artefact. “Try it now.”

            Very slowly, Sam twisted a side. She stared at it for a long moment before twisting another. She jerked her head back, as if this was an entirely new development she hadn’t expected, then continued to play with the toy, fully engrossed.

            While Sam pondered at the Rubik’s Cube, Alex concluded his work was done here and went back to sleep. He hadn’t met anyone who didn’t have a degree that managed to solve a Rubik’s cube, so there was no way Sam could solve it within the next thirty minutes before they got home.

            Alex smiled to himself. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad having her around after all, so long as she wasn’t in his way. He just hoped Sabina wouldn’t try to make this lost girl an official part of the family.


	9. Alex vs. the Frozen Peas

**Chapter Nine**

**Alex vs. the Frozen Peas**

 

            He appreciated the peace and quiet it gave. Not the bus ride, no, that was incredibly noisy and slow. No, he meant the Rubik’s cube, and the extended contemplative state it sent Sam into. They experienced a full thirty minutes where Sam hadn’t said anything but a few spare words. The Rubik’s cube, pre-scrambled, had her full, undivided attention and Alex loved it.

            Alex couldn’t tell if she liked it or not, but the way she was twisting the sides, stopping to spin it around, thinking, then twisting another side meant that she was determined to solve the puzzle. Alex didn’t know anyone who could solve a Rubik’s cube who didn’t already have a PhD in something math or science related. His old friend Smithers could figure it out in less than five minutes. But Smithers was a genius. Sam was not. There was no way she could ever solve that puzzle without looking for outside help.

            Of course, once they got home, it was barely even noontime and Sabina didn’t seem bothered by the idea of Sam staying for the whole day. In fact, she even decided to call some more friends over, because why the hell not. Her parents weren’t there, off on a day of golfing, and thus had no say against Sabina’s all-encompassing will. So Alex decided to spend the rest of the day secluded in his room. He tried to read one of the books his school assigned for the summer reading list. Alex didn’t particularly care about school, he just needed something to do right now.

            ...Unfortunately, _The Scarlet Letter_ , for all its rich commentary on Puritan life and values, was a chore to get through, and Alex figured he would get more out of the book by throwing it out the window rather than finishing it. Still, he persevered – the book wasn’t too long, anyways.

            The idea of regular old public school loomed on the horizon. Alex wasn’t exactly looking forward to it, but if it meant having a normal life again, he was all for the notion. And he’d be sure to try harder this time. He started with catching up on the reading he had been procrastinating with. Sabina was all done with hers.

            About an hour later, he heard footsteps come up the stairs. Out of the corner of his eye Alex saw someone walk into his room. “I’m done.”

            “What?” Alex hadn’t been paying attention and looked up. Sam stood there, shifting awkwardly as she presented the solved Rubik’s cube. Alex stared at it, uncomprehending. It hadn’t been long. How could she have finished it so quickly? “That was fast. Did you look up a strategy on the Internet?”

            She just stared at him. “Internet? No, I just...solved it. Like you told me to.”  
  
            There was a stretch of silence where they both just looked at each other, neither knowing what to do. Alex was the first to speak, “Have...have you ever solved a Rubik’s cube before?”

            “No.” She shook her head. Sam hadn’t moved from her spot. Her hand was still outstretched with the finished cube. “This was the first time I’ve seen one. Why? How long _should_ it have taken me? Did I do it wrong?”

            Alex took the Rubik’s cube to inspect it more carefully, to cleanse any doubts. Indeed, Sam had every colour on the right side, none that intermingled. He had played with Rubik’s cubes several times before – for days on end – and never got any further in his goals. The fact that Sam got this before dinner meant something. He just wasn’t sure what. “That’s...that’s cool. Have you showed Sabina yet?”

            “She didn’t see it before.”

            “Well, why don’t you just mix it up again?”  
  
            “I can’t. It would be too easy.”

            Alex made a face. He had never heard anyone tell him that a Rubik’s cube was “too easy.” And he had tried memorizing his moves as a way to solve the puzzle, but he always forgot a step or two. It was so easy to give up. But he decided to humour Sam and scrambled it again. “Fair enough. Here you go. Show Sabina.”

            “Can she solve Rubik’s cubes, too?” Sam almost looked hopeful. Alex’s own bewilderment probably hadn’t made her feel too confident about herself. Alex almost felt bad, but he realized this was the first time he’d seen her self-conscious. In fact, she was blushing when he handed the cube back to her.

            “Sabina can’t solve a word search,” he snorted and earned a small smile in return. Sam’s humor needed improvement, but she was starting to catch onto social cues. “She’ll be all over your Rubik’s-cube-solving abilities. Trust me, she’ll love it.”

            “Okay,” Sam gave him a genuine grin and skipped out of his room. Actually _skipped_. He didn’t know anyone who could just be so cheerful like that on a whim.

            Alex found himself chuckling softly, then caught himself. He hadn’t laughed in so long, hadn’t _smiled_ in forever. In fact, his psychiatrist would argue he was in a firm state of depression. And yet, Alex discovered he was enjoying himself. Boy, would Sabina’s mother be ecstatic to learn about all of this at their next therapy session.

            He could hear the high-pitched giggles and laughter of Sabina’s friends. Whenever one of them uttered a particularly loud screech, Alex would wince and grit his teeth. Loud noises, even this kind, put him on edge. When he closed his eyes, Alex would see the flash of guns, angry faces, fists and boots, empty rooms with dark corners, the bars of a cage, scared and dirty faces of refugees...all at once, filling his mind with no room to spare.

            An ache in his shoulder. Just above his heart. Phantom pains that weren’t really there, just echoes of memories.

            Dr. Lee had given him advice to handle these flashbacks. Usually he’d find some ice or run cold water over his hands and face – the temperature helped him focus on the present. Another solution, one that Alex preferred when he hadn’t completely disassociated himself from his surroundings was to listen to loud music. It blocked out the sharp bangs and slamming downstairs and allowed him some form of pleasure in what he listened to.

            Alex reached for his iPod, hands shaking so much that it was hard to read the screen. Then he lied back and closed his eyes, trying to focus on the lyrics, the guitars, the drums. When the shakiness in his hands went away and his heart beat normally, Alex allowed himself to open his eyes and heave a sigh. That was one of the lesser instances of PTSD he’d experienced.

            He needed a drink of water.

            Alex pulled himself out of bed with a groan. He didn’t know how long he had been lying down, just that he felt sore as if he had just been in a fight. His muscles felt tense, and Alex felt silly for being so paranoid. His body was ready for an unexpected attack and he couldn’t make himself relax. Hopefully no one else would notice.

            The girls had gathered in the kitchen. Or, rather, Sabina and her friends had, while Sam was in the living room, still playing with the Rubik’s cube. At a glance, Alex noticed that the new girl already half of the puzzle solved. Damn. He just knew she would come back and ask him to scramble it for her again.

            Upon entering the kitchen, with its silver-matte appliances and clean black surfaces, the girls gathered at the bar looked at him and immediately fell silent. Alex averted his gaze and did his best not to turn red right in front of them.

            Sabina just smirked at him and sipped from her drink, elbowing the girl beside her and said, “So, how was the game?”

            “Oh, it was good!” the girl, who Alex remembered to be Fallon, turned to Sabina in surprise, as if just realizing she was still there. “I-I scored a goal and we won ten to eight...”

            With Sabina and Fallon’s conversation to mask their own, the other two girls – Marie and Olivia – started to whisper to each other. Alex tried to ignore them even though he already knew what they were talking about. He wasn’t an idiot. These girls talked behind everyone’s backs, hardly with anything nice to say. Sometimes they were less subtle than usual – sometimes they didn’t bother at all. Maybe they thought they were being secretive but Alex, his senses had been honed to the point where it was hard to ignore anything that wasn’t in his direct vicinity.

            Of the three girls, only Olivia had ever asked him out. Once. Least to say, Alex hadn’t been interested. Still wasn’t. Whether or not she was pretty or had a nice personality under that annoying laugh, it didn’t matter to him. Could he handle the emotional baggage of someone else, on top of his own? Probably not. Alex wasn’t ready. He wasn’t sure if he ever would be.

            But of course this just made Olivia and the others become all the more “irresistible”, as Sabina would repeat what the girls said about him, verbatim. “It’s the bad boy stereotype,” she would explain to him time after time. “You’re just so goddamn mysterious and dark. It’s like they have no idea what living with you is actually _like_.”

            Sabina was mostly joking about the matter, but Alex knew that his...episodes affected his adoptive family as much as they affected him. It wasn’t something they talked about in public. The only place where it became a serious discussion was in Dr. Lee’s office, and even then Alex didn’t like it.

            “Go talk to him.” Marie hissed at Olivia, poking her in the arm.

            “No, _you_ talk to him!” Olivia whispered back, scowling. “I tried it last time. It’s your turn!”

            Alex pretended not to hear the girls as he reached for a cup and went to the fridge for water. He made the mistake of glancing at them when his cup was filling up and watched as the girls’ eyes met his and they immediately looked away, bursting into fits of giggles behind their arms. Alex shook his head to himself and focused on the glass in his hand, trying not to let his embarrassment get the better of him.

            Just as he turned around to leave the kitchen, Sam appeared in front of him, as if out of thin air. Alex jumped, spilling some water on the floor, and had to clench his fist before he let off a string of curse words.

            Instead, Alex managed a strained: “Jeez, don’t do that!”

            More giggling at the bar. Apparently, his reaction was funny.

            Alex refused to look at them. Sam just blinked at him, seeming not to understand what just happened. “Oh, all right.”

            Then she turned and walked away.

            Now it was Alex’s turn to look confused. Olivia snorted and whispered to Marie, “Wow, I can’t believe she just walked up to him and didn’t even try!”

            “She’s crazy!” Marie replied.

            All things considered, Alex thought Sam to be lesser of irritations in the house. Still wondering what she wanted (probably to scramble the Rubik’s cube again), he followed her back into the living room. Alex wasn’t sure if this was an entirely well-informed decision – for all he knew, Sam would go off on another tangent that he really didn’t care about, and make Alex realize that yes, she still got on his nerves after just a couple hours of knowing her.

            Sam was back on the couch, still playing with the cube. So she hadn’t solved it yet, after all. Alex decided to keep his distance, especially after witnessing her scour the whole house upon arrival – her need to touch and stare at everything for five minutes was bizarre and just made Alex want to remove himself from the situation. He had no idea how much of the house she had completed when he finally left the room again, but she seemed okay so far.

            “What was that about?” he asked her, sitting on the opposite seat from her. It was the green leather armchair that Mr. Pleasure always sat in to read the newspaper and drink his tea. It smelled like him, too, of paper and aftershave.

            “You said you didn’t want me to do that, so I left,” Sam replied, letting the cube drop in her lap for a moment to look at him. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

            “No, I just meant...” Alex supposed sarcasm wasn’t the only thing she didn’t understand. “You scared me, you just appeared out of nowhere.”

            “I was in the living room.” Sam replied, frowning.

            “I know, but,” Alex rubbed the back of his head, getting frustrated trying to explain this to her. “I didn’t notice you approach. I just- I don’t like surprises, okay?”  
  
            “Oh, sure,” Sam nodded, as though _now_ it made sense, and went back to her Rubik’s cube as though there weren’t even a problem. “I get it.”

            Alex was a little stunned she managed to get it so easily. “...You do?”

            She just smiled at him. “I don’t like surprises either. It makes it hard to focus on anything else. It’s fine.”

            “Don’t they have pills for that?” Alex asked, taking a sip of his water before setting it down on the table in front of him. The question had been bugging him for some time now: was Sam on medication? _Should_ she be?

            “Pills for what?”

            “You know,” wow, way to make him feel awkward. Alex ran a hand through his hair. Now he knew what it felt like for someone else to ask him if he took antipsychotics. “For your...condition?”

            “What condition?” Sam tilted her head at him.

            Alex wasn’t sure if she was kidding or not. Based on his gathered data so far, Sam probably had no idea what he was talking about. “Did – didn’t your mother notice you have...you have whatever you have?”

            “Do you mean my shoes?” Sam raised her green-soled feet from the couch armrest. “She already knows I won them on a bet.”

            So, clearly not. Alex couldn’t believe a mother wouldn’t bother to get her child medication for (he assumed) ADD, much less not even telling their kid about it. Did Sam think this was normal, acting the way she did? Did anyone ever tell her that she was...weird?

            He decided that it probably wasn’t his place to break the news to her. It would be even harder to have to explain it in case Sam didn’t understand. “Um, never mind.”

            “All right,” Sam said, going back to her puzzle again. Did she just not care? Alex didn’t expect her to keep talking. “Are you and Sabina related?”

            “No.” he replied, a little frustrated. Just when he was about to get up and leave, she had to start something else. In normal circumstances, he would just go anyways, but for some reason Alex felt obligated to stay. For some reason, he wanted to _make sure_ Sam understood him. “I’m adopted. Didn’t we already tell you before?”

            “I forget, sometimes,” Sam shrugged like this was natural. “There’s just a lot of things to remember, you know? After all those paintings, all those names, some stuff just gets slips by, I guess you could say. You won’t tell my mother, will you? She’ll be super mad if she found out I slipped up, even just a little bit.”  
  
            “Uh, yeah, I promise,” Alex said rather nonchalantly. He didn’t take her word particularly seriously. “You’re not saying you actually memorized all that artwork, did you?”  
  
            “It’s important, right?” was her rebounding question.

            “Well, to _some_ people, I guess –”

            “Then, yes, I memorized them,” Sam finished with a proud smile. It faltered a little and it took her a moment to say: “Well, I kind of can’t help it. I just _have_ to, you know. It’s not even about my mother. Things just show up and I have to, I have to notice them or-or that’s all I think about until I see it again. Sounds are hard, really hard because, you know, you can’t repeat them, you can’t look back at them like a painting or a sign or something, it’s there and then it’s not. So it bugs me for hours. Sometimes I get lucky and hear it again. Then it’s good. You know what’s a good idea? A machine that repeats sounds so you can remember them. That would _so_ help if I can’t –”

            “Stop!” he almost shouted. When her voice started to pick up, words spoken faster, Alex realized she would keep going until some outside force stopped her. Alex had gotten lost in the stream of words. The last thing he remembered her saying was something about sound and then it was just a blur of sounds. “Just-just stop, okay?”

            “Oh, okay,” Sam had flinched at his words, startled by the sudden outburst. Alex immediately felt bad when he saw the hurt look on her face. He hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings, “Am I not supposed to do that, either?”

            He did his best to rectify the situation. Alex wondered if she would start crying. “No, it’s fine, you were just going so fast I didn’t think you’d stop. It was a little scary.”

            “Oh.” Was all Sam said. She looked at him for a long moment, her eyes starting to glaze over. Alex wasn’t even sure if she was even paying attention anymore. “What was it like?”

            “What was what like?”

            “Do you miss your old home?” Sam’s eyes refocused, as if remembering where she was.“...England? That’s where you’re from, right? Did you leave behind any friends? Family?”

            Alex’s reaction was abrupt, almost instinctual. As soon as the images of Jack started forming in his head, Alex’s hands started to shake and his breath hitched in his throat. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think. He just knew he had to leave before something bad happened. When she finished, without another word he surged up, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and stalked away.

            The only place to go was his room. He had left Sam behind, completely bewildered and asking, “Did I say something wrong?” before he disappeared upstairs and slammed the door behind him.

            Then Alex turned and slammed his fist into the nearest wall.

He hadn’t meant to lose his cool. But Sam had gone too far. Alex had been afraid that he might hurt Sam if he didn’t leave immediately. Something about ‘projecting’ his feelings onto something, or _someone_ , else. A reaction Dr. Lee specifically warned him against.

            Alex couldn’t face it just yet. The questions of his therapist were better phrased but no less easy to answer. That made it all the worse – never mind he didn’t fare well in his sessions, Alex could barely function in public. It was a regular question brought on by regular circumstance. If he couldn’t at least figure out how to lie about it, how was he ever going to find a normal life again? Of course, Sam didn’t have an agenda; she had no clue of his psychological state.  
  
            ...Well, maybe she did now, but that wasn’t the point. Alex stewed in his frustration, feeling utterly lost and helpless in his quest to regain a sense of normalcy in his life. Every day, Alex was reminded he was different from the rest of the world, even down to the littlest things.

            From constant nightmares and complete insomnia to flinching at every loud bang and crash. Alex constantly felt himself on alert, unable to rest and relax for long periods of time, until he was so exhausted he fell into fitful, dreamless sleeps that left him even more tired than before. It was a vicious cycle that until very recently had remained unbroken.

            Sam was the very first person he allowed himself to open up to, even for the briefest of moments. It was so stupid of him, Alex wasn’t sure why or how it had happened. Not even with Sabina he talked about his past, before or after his career with MI6.

            And Sam, some girl he had met only hours ago, had gotten closer to him than his therapist and adoptive family of over six months have been trying to attempt. How had she done it? Was it the complete innocence in her knowledge, the honest curiosity in her eyes? Or perhaps it was the way she smiled, so sincere and trusting, a promise that she only meant well.

            But Alex knew better. In the world he knew only too well, people would do anything, _be_ anyone, to get what they want.

            He slumped on his bed, exhaustion taking him once more. Knuckles aching, Alex ran a hand through his hair. Although he ran from the question, he couldn’t run from his own thoughts. Jack’s face floated out from the darkness behind his eyelids. No matter how hard Alex tried, he couldn’t get rid of her face.

            _Oh, Jack..._

            His fists clenched in his hair, pulling until it hurt. The pain made for a rudimentary distraction, an emotion being overpowered by a stronger one. He didn’t like it anymore but at least it was simpler, easier to control.

            There were not a lot of things in Alex’s life he could control. Pain was a strange sort of solace he could hide away in. A secret he wasn’t proud of, one he wished he didn’t have to keep – but what better option was there?

            At some point, he forced himself up and relocated a bookshelf to cover the hole in the wall he had made. Sabina’s parents weren’t home yet, so he expected no one would notice anytime soon. But he doubted they would ask anyways. Dr. Lee had told them he “had to work things out himself” first, before confiding in anyone else.

            He supposed they would allow any sort of catharsis, short of murder if it meant Alex would open up eventually.

            Alex didn’t realize it wasn’t over yet. Just as he was about to return to his bed, clutching his aching hand, there came a loud bang outside. It could have been a car door slamming, an exhaust backfiring, a trashcan being dropped – it didn’t matter. As soon as Alex heard it, he hit the ground.

            Terrible images flashed in his mind. Bright explosions, screaming people, a terrible warmth in his chest, paralyzing fear. A glint of light in a window of an apartment building, across the street. Stepping off the curb, then falling without feeling.

            The floor was shaking. Why was the floor shaking? Alex couldn’t make it stop. In the back of his mind, he knew what was happening, but something prevented him from speaking, from shouting. If he could only reach Sabina somehow – call her parents, bring them back, get help.

            He didn’t know what to do, he couldn’t remember. All Alex could see was the open windows, the bright day, how easy it was for someone to see him in here. He was right out in the open, for any sniper to see. No, Alex couldn’t let them win. He had to hide.

            But Alex wouldn’t stand up, he couldn’t. He saw the closet behind him and realized it was his only chance. He scrambled for it, terrified by how sluggish his movements were – like he was trapped in slow-motion. A snail was faster than this. Any second now, Alex would be dead.

            Darkness. Safe darkness.

            He shoved himself inside the closet, slamming the door behind him. Alex curled up, not particularly concerned with comfort at the moment. He just tried to make himself as small as he could, to make it harder for someone to find him, to kill him.

            Alex’s heart beat so loud that he couldn’t hear anything else. He didn’t realize he was hyperventilating until the stuffiness in the closet made it hard to breathe. Some jackets hanging from the bar were in his face, so he pushed them away, only to bump his arm on something else in the closet, something metal. A shelf, maybe? A baseball bat? He couldn’t tell, it was impossible to see in there.

            It could have been a few seconds, it could have been hours. Time didn’t make sense to Alex at the moment. He was just aware of the fact of how small in the closet it was, how safe he felt away from prying eyes. No one could reach him here, he was could stay here forever and they would never find them.

            Who was ‘they’? Alex couldn’t remember. All he knew is that they wanted him dead.

            It felt like an eternity before someone came to check on him. Did they even know Alex was in trouble? How could he tell them to leave, to get out of here before they got hurt, without endangering himself as well?

            He heard the footsteps up the stairs first, then the slow creaking of the door opening. They didn’t knock. Why didn’t they knock? It was a rule in this house – always knock before entering Alex’s room, unless you wanted to scare him and then face the consequences. Soft knocking, not loud banging either. Whoever this was, they either forgot or didn’t care.

            Alex pushed himself further into the back of the closet as the person, whoever they were, entered the room. It wasn’t Sabina or her parents, they would know to knock, so it couldn’t be them. Whoever else it could be was a stranger, someone he couldn’t trust, someone he had to hide from. They were the enemy.

            He saw their shadow crossing the light underneath the closet door. The footsteps were light, quiet. Not wearing shoes. It was custom to take off your shoes when entering this house. So it was a visitor, a visitor who was allowed inside. It had to be one of Sabina’s friends. Olivia, probably...that girl was always snooping around where Alex didn’t want her to. The very idea of those silly girls sneaking in his room made Alex relax a little – they were a non-threat, an annoyance.

            But unlike Olivia, this person did not call out his name, did not ask where he was to the empty room. Alex wanted to peek out the door, see who it was, but his fear had overridden his curiosity. No, it was better to stay in here and not risk the chance that it could be an enemy outside that door.

            Whoever was in that room was looking at his stuff. Alex could tell as the movements went across the room, where his desk was. Above it was a trophy shelf, mostly academic awards and football trophies from before his days as a spy. In particular, there was a chequered ball with the signature of Frank Lampard, one of Alex’s favourite footballers. He hoped the intruder wouldn’t touch it. It was a gift for his tenth birthday.

            A loud clatter. Then a bang. Alex winced. Whoever it was, they had just dropped the ball.

            “Oops,” said the intruder. A girl’s voice. Sabina’s friends?

            No. It was Sam. Of course, she wouldn’t know about knocking on doors. Now she was inside, poking around, probably touching everything in sight. It made Alex’s skin crawl with just the thought of it. Why was she touching his stuff? That was _his_ stuff.

            She didn’t belong in here. Of all people, she would surely find him, perhaps without even trying to. She would sniff and poke and prod until she knew every corner of that room and Alex knew there was no getting her away – at least without somehow hurting her feelings, and thereby getting Sabina involved because of his bad host behaviour.

            So Alex just pulled himself tighter into a ball and prayed to whatever deity who would listen that Sam would not find him, that she would not barrage him with questions, that she would just leave and never enter the room again.

            Sam wandered around the room. There was some muffled scrapings and whispers – Sam was slowly making her way across one side of the room to the other. From the way Alex guessed her progress, the closet would be one of the last things she’d reach. He hoped that perhaps something would come along and distract her enough to leave the room – but in his anxiety for her to leave, Alex’s muscles reacted against his wishes and his foot twitched. Normally, it would’ve been silent if there hadn’t been a box full of loose items, old toys of when he was a boy.

            Alex flinched at the loud tinny noise. He silently cursed himself for his own stupidity as he heard Sam suddenly stop with whatever she was doing, apparently alerted by the noise.

            _Oh, great._

            He dreaded when the shadow fell across the door. Alex considered telling her to go away before she got too curious, but that would probably just be the nail in the coffin.

            When a set of fingertips appeared on the door-frame, Alex prepared himself for the worse. Those blue eyes, too bright, peering in at him, through the crack in the door. He turned his face away, hoping she hadn’t seen him. Alex just couldn’t handle that right now.

            Then those eyes vanished, and that crack of light filtered in again. The fingertips disappeared, sudden footsteps going out the door.

            Alex looked up, surprised. What in the world had compelled that girl to leave what was most probably a great mystery to her?

            For a long moment, he didn’t think she would come back. But less than a minute later, he heard the sounds of footsteps up the door (with some high-pitched giggles making preamble), then the sound of her entering his room again.

            She came straight for the closet as he expected. A sharp intake of breath when the door of the closet was pulled open. But Sam didn’t pull it all the way open, just enough to stick her hand through. In that hand, she held something.

            Alex stared at it, not quite sure what to make of it in the dark. He reached up and touched it. The object was cold to the touch. An icepack? No, peas, he could feel it in the packaging. It was wrapped in a dishcloth. In his rattled mind, Alex had no idea what it was for.  
  
            “Your hand,” Sam whispered, as though she could read his mind. He had hesitated and she seemed to understand his confusion when he didn’t take it from her hand. “It must hurt.”

            Alex didn’t say anything, just took the iced peas and placed it over his knuckles. He had forgotten about the ache. Now it was back in full force. Alex was pretty sure his hand was bleeding, but in his panicked state it was of less importance.

            At last, he managed a hoarse, “Thank you.”

            But Sam was already gone.


	10. Sam vs. the Smoothie

**Chapter Ten**

**Sam vs. the Smoothie**

 

            Sam went back downstairs, not quite sure what to make of what just happened. The desire to go back was so strong it nearly killed her – she had so many questions she wanted to ask Alex, but after their last conversation, Sam didn’t think he would welcome them. What had she done that made him so upset? Sam would like to know, and she’d like to say sorry. She didn’t want Alex to be angry with her.

            She went back into the kitchen, deciding to bring it up to Sabina. She and the other three girls – Olivia, Marie, and Fallon (no last names yet, but Sam was determined to find out eventually). They talked a lot like the girls from the cafe, much to Sam’s frustration. Did they learn to talk so fast, with short words and abbreviations she didn’t understand? Or were they born talking that way? At least Sabina talked in a way that made sense to Sam.

           The girls giggled like Sam just told a joke by walking into the room. Sam did her best to ignore them when she addressed Sabina, “Why does Alex do that?”  
  
            Sabina glanced at her, pressing the button to churn up the ingredients in the blender. Over the noise, she asked, “Do what?”

            “Hide in his room, doesn’t talk to anybody,”

            “Oh, that’s just what he does,” Sabina gave a lighthearted laugh, surprising Sam enough to jump her. Sabina let go of the button and the blender stopped its blending. As she took it off the pedestal and went to get cups, Sabina said, “He’s not much a people-person, Sam. He prefers to spend time on his own, reading and stuff.”

            “That’s not _all_ he does,” Marie said and they exploded into laughter.

            “Oh, shut up, it’s not like that at all!” Sabina complained, throwing a frustrated look at her friends, cheeks flushing red.

            Sam just stared. “Wait, what do they mean? What else does he do in his room?”

            “No, never mind,” Sabina quickly said before Marie could say anything else. She put a hand on Sam’s shoulder and turned her away, so they were both facing the corner, at some distance from her friends. Sabina paused before saying, “Alex’s been going through a rough time. I mean, _really_ rough, PTSD rough. You know what that is, right?”

            Sam nodded. At least she had _some_ grasp of what was going on around here, although she still wanted to know what Marie meant.

            “Good,” Sabina replied. “Because of that, these social... _things_ , I guess, are really hard for him. I mean, he has a therapist and we go to the family meetings, but-but its slow going. It might take years for him to ever be...”

            “Ever be what?” Sam asked when Sabina’s sentence drifted.

            “Normal,” she seemed to wince at the word. “It sounds kind of bad when I say it like that, but it’s true. I’ve known him for almost three years – and this is nothing like he used to be. He used to smile and laugh and...and now he doesn’t do any of that. Sometimes I wonder if he’s back to his old life again, but that wouldn’t make a lot of sense. We left the country specifically to get away from it.”

            “What old life?”

            Sabina seemed to realize what she said and quickly added, “Um, don’t worry about it. Just give Alex some space, okay? He’ll appreciate it.”

            She turned and went back to filling the cups with smoothies. Sam still stood there, frowning to herself. There was no way she was _not_ going to worry about it now that Sabina said it. The whole matter was going to bother her for the rest of the day, she just knew it.

            "Smoothie?” Sabina offered a cup to Sam, who took it because she had no idea what it was. Sabina took the last cup and said, “I’ll go bring this up to Alex. Play nice, girls!”

            Sam thought that request was an odd one to make. They weren’t playing any games. Were they? Sam got frustrated again, wondering if they started playing a game without telling her first.

            “So, Sam,” Fallon said, swirling her straw in her drink. She had a very suspicious smile on her face and kept stealing glances at her friends. “What happened when you knocked on Alex’s door, hmm?”

            Earlier, Sam had come down to fetch the frozen peas for Alex and hadn’t explained the matter to any of the girls when she opened the freezer and took them out herself. Sabina had tried to say something but gave up when Sam left immediately afterwards, three girls staring after her in bewilderment.

            Sam didn’t think she needed to explain herself – it made sense if they thought about it, but now Sam started to wonder if taking food without asking first was somehow a bad thing.

            She didn’t find Fallon’s question odd, and just answered honestly, “He was hiding in his closet.”

            The girls actually fell silent for once, exchanging gaping looks. Fallon’s eyebrows shot way up and she looked back at Sam to say, “You’re joking, right?”

            “No,” Sam replied, not appreciating the fact that they doubted her. Why would they doubt her? Sam was telling them the truth! “That’s where I found him.”

            “Wow,” Olivia said, flicking her red hair over her shoulder. She snickered as she said, “I can’t believe you scared him so bad he had to hide in his closet to get away from you.”

            “No, I didn’t –”  
  
            “What did you say that made him so angry earlier?” Marie said. She fixed Sam with a sharp look. “I heard you talking to each other earlier, and then he just stormed off. Were you _trying_ to piss him off?”

            “N-no, I...I didn’t _mean_ to –”

            “It’s like you’ve never even _met_ a boy before,” Fallon rolled her eyes, then pointed at her clothes. “I mean, just look at what you’re wearing! Did you _sleep_ in those?”

            “Well, actually –” Sam tried to say, but was once more cut off, this time by Olivia.

            “How _old_ are those jeans, huh?” she demanded. “They don’t even fit you right. Where did you get them, a thrift shop?”

            “It-it-it isn’t tha–”

            “Can you even speak English?” Marie snapped, leaning over the counter and squinting at Sam with a suspicious look. “Where are you from? Mother Russia?”

            They had a good laugh at that. Meanwhile, Sam was having trouble with just getting a word in edgewise. For some reason, her words weren’t coming out right, her tongue hesitated and she couldn’t think straight. Sam didn’t know what was going on. Why was her face feeling so hot? Her heart beat loud and all she wanted to do was curl up and disappear. But Sam had never felt that way before. What was that about?

            These girls, they wouldn’t stop, even when Sam couldn’t summon any more protestations. All she could do was just stand there and take it, fully knowing that if they didn’t stop in less than three second, Sam was going to –

            “STOP!” she shouted.

            Olivia, Marie, and Fallon jumped in their seats, immediately falling silent and staring at her with wide eyes. Sam had to admit, she didn’t think her voice could get so screechy. Her throat hurt from the attempt.

            But Sam realized that they weren’t looking at her, necessarily. She looked down, surprised to find her hand empty and the glass on the floor, shattered and pink smoothie across her clothes and all over the floor. There were several cuts in her palm from crushing the glass with her grip.

            Face still burning, Sam stepped back, surprised. What should she do? Her hand still bleeding, Sam was torn between tending her wounds and cleaning up the mess she made.

            Realizing that Sabina would come back to find a mess and probably being less than pleased, Sam reached for the nearby roll of paper towels and started picking up the glass pieces before wiping up the spilt drink.

            “Come on,” one of the girls said. There was the scrapping of metal across tile as they left their seats. “Let’s go into the living room.”

            “Jesus,” Fallon muttered. Sam knew it was her because she glanced up to look as the girls’ shadows passed over the kitchen floor. Fallon cast Sam a withering glance before going to Marie and whispering, “What a _spaz_.”

            A jolt went through Sam. That word again.

            “I know, right?” Marie rolled her eyes, turning her back on the scene. They were speaking in a conspiratorial tones, but Sam could hear them just fine. “You think those airport security guys would know how to screen out people like her.”

            Sam decided not to get up and comment, considering her previous attempts at defending herself had failed spectacularly. Her mother had taught her it was pointless to keep attempting the same tactic if it didn’t work before, to keep doing it was insanity. But her mother never taught her what to do in a situation where she was at a disadvantage, where physical combat would not win her the argument.

            It had crossed Sam’s mind that maybe punching one of the girls in the face would show her superiority, but it felt cowardly to do so if they didn’t hit her first. Never be the one to initiate combat. It was always the final option, when nothing else worked.

            But Sam had yet to figure out a way to stand up to these girls without physically harming them. She wondered if she should ask Sabina. Would Sabina be offended, since Olivia and the others were already her friends? She already knew them for some time; Sabina would probably favor them over Sam, who had known her for approximately five hours, thirty seven minutes and fifty-two seconds.

            Sam figured it couldn’t hurt.

            She felt sad that she didn’t get a chance to find out what a smoothie tasted like. From everyone else’s reaction, it must have been pretty good.

            With two handfuls of wet glass, Sam dumped it in the trash bin, and the wet mops of paper after it. They were covered in red streaks and her hand was stinging with contact with the drink. Turning to the sink, Sam let her hand run under cold water, letting the temperature numb her hand a bit. The rushing water helped drown out the chittering of the girls in the living room, allowing Sam a moment to think without interruption.

            Spaz. That strange word – but used on her? Sam still didn’t know what it meant, but now she had a feeling it didn’t mean anything good. Why would they call her that?

            Sam wanted to ask. But every time she snuck glances over to the living room, she would catch Olivia or Marie or Fallon watching her, who immediately upon eye contact turned away and started giggling to the others. Sam had the distinct feeling that their discussion was about her.

            “Oh, Sam, did you hurt yourself?” Sabina’s voice startled Sam out of her reverie. “What happened?”

            “I-I...” Her words still fluttered in her mouth. Sam forced a swallow before continuing in a slightly stronger voice. “I broke the glass, cut my hand. Made a mess.”

            “Really?” Sabina looked at the floor, at the wet and sticky patch of tile where Sam’s cup had fallen. Sabina then turned to her friends in the living room, still speaking to Sam, “Did Fallon or Marie...?”

            “Oh, she said she’d do it herself!” Olivia called, cupping her hand around her mouth. She just smiled and gave Sabina a helpful shrug. “Sam didn’t want our help.”

            “Right, Sam?” Fallon asked.

            Sabina looked back to Sam for confirmation. Sam froze, a deer in the headlights of sixteen eyes carefully watching her. Her gaze floated over to Olivia, who tilted her head in a nonverbal challenge. Next was Fallon, who drew a finger across her throat. Finally, Marie, who just gave Sam a sweet little grin.

            Would Sam dare go against their word?

            Sam wasn’t ready yet. She just gave Sabina a tight-lipped smile, deciding that perhaps it was best to play along. While Sam may be able to physically dominate everyone in this conversation, that possibility was not open, and Sam didn’t realize until now how vicious and powerful words could be until now.

            She had underestimated Olivia, Marie, and Fallon, who’s talking had initially seemed superfluous and jarring to her senses. But they were so much more.

            Their way with words could do more damage than a well-placed punch. And the best part about it – the words would leave not a single mark on Sam’s skin.

            Sabina, not sensing the tension between Sam and Olivia, just nodded and said, “Oh, all right. That’s really nice of you, Sam. But, uh, I think you’re going to need something for those cuts. I’ll go get the first aid kit.”

            As soon as Sabina disappeared beyond the hall, Sam heard Olivia’s high-pitched giggle, mimicking the previous conversation. “Oh, isn’t Sam so nice? At least we know she can pick up after herself.”

            “At least they get _one_ thing right in Russia,” Marie replied. This banter continued for a couple moments, only to cut short when Sabina reappeared, a white box in her hand.

            She set the box on the counter. There was a red cross emblazoned on it, a symbol Sam was familiar with. Inside were the things Sam expected – gauze, tape, tubes of disinfectant and a box of band-aids. Sabina held out her hand, and it took Sam a moment she was waiting for Sam to give her injured palm to her.

            Sabina’s fingers were cold, the alcohol wipe even colder. It stung her cuts, brought them back into sharp relief in Sam’s mind. But the burn was temporary and quickly replaced by a small patch of light cotton and accompanying bandage.

            Sabina didn’t seem bothered by the blood. In fact, she seemed rather approving. “Well, at least the cuts were shallow. I was afraid we’d have to take you to the hospital for stitches.”

            The idea of going to a hospital terrified Sam. She didn’t like putting her healthcare into the hands of others. Her mother had taught her to take care of herself, and the only reason Sam didn’t oppose to Sabina’s medical treatment was because Sabina was nice and so far had shown no malicious intent. Sam couldn’t expect that from the nurses and doctors she had never met before in a hospital she had never been to before.

            “Thank you.” Sam took her hand back, lightly pressing her fingers into her other palm, allowing the sponges to soak the extra blood. She made a fist, testing the flexibility. The bandages limited her movement, but not too much to be inconvenient. “That feels much better.”

            Sabina cast Sam a smile as she put away the gauze and other tools. “Good. I’m surprised, from the look on your face, you didn’t seem hurt.”

            “I’ve had worse.” Sam admitted, which didn’t seem to surprise the other girl.

            “Yeah, heard that one before,” she laughed, snapping the box latches into place and picking it off the counter. “You and Alex can share stories. He’s had plenty of, um, adventures.”

            “Oh, cool,” Sam didn’t really know how to take that information. Alex didn’t seem that open to conversation, and in her opinion wasn’t much of a sharer. She followed Sabina out of the kitchen – partly with the intent to talk about her friends, and also to get away from them. As soon as Olivia and the other girls were out of earshot, Sam asked, “Um, I have a question.”

            “Sure,” Sabina said, stopping in the first floor bathroom to stash the box in the mirror cupboard. “What is it?”

            Sam took a second to phrase her question. “What do you do...when people are mean to you?”

            Sabina closed the mirror and paused, brow furrowing at her reflection. Then she turned to Sam and said, “What do you mean? Like, a-a bully? The kind that pushes you around?”

            Sam knew the word ‘bully’, although this was an unfamiliar context. But she guessed what Sabina meant and went on, words streaming out of her mouth in a sudden burst, “I-I guess. I mean, they don’t actually _touch_ me or anything, it’s just the way they talk, you know? I-I’m not sure if this makes any sense, but I just feel so stupid, the way they make me feel and I don’t know what to do because, well, what I _want_ to do is punch them in the face but – well, I guess from the look on your face that’s a bad idea – but what do I do, then, if I can’t do that? Because I’m not at anything else and I don’t think I can just stand there and take it because I’ll just end up breaking something besides their face –”

            “Whoa, okay, slow down,” Sabina waved her hands in the air, swiping fast enough to catch Sam’s attention and get her to stop. “You’re going a little fast for me. Okay, is this about Alex? Because I know he’s a little rough around the edges but if he’s really being _mean_ to you...”

            Sam shook her head, having no idea what made Sabina assume this had to be about Alex. “Um, not exactly. It’s a girl. Well, more than one...”

            “Oh.” Sabina frowned. Then her eyes widened when she figured out what was going on. “ _Oh._ You mean Olivia, don’t you? And Fallon and Marie? Oh, jeez,” she smacked her forehead, a gesture that surprised Sam. “I should’ve known this would happen.”  
  
            Sam remained silent, waiting for Sabina’s reaction to ferment. Was she angry at Sam or at the other girls?

            But Sabina just sighed and gave Sam a beleaguered smile. “Okay, you see, Olivia is kind of a, um, judgmental sort of person. She just likes to stick to her group of friends, you know, and she’s sometimes a little hostile to new people. Fallon and Marie just like to follow along. They were like that to me, when I first moved here, so I know what you’re going through. Don’t worry about it, Sam, I’ll go talk to them. So we can just skip this stupid hazing thing and move on with our lives.”

            Sam’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Oh, thank you so much. I didn’t know how to talk to them...”

            “Yeah, it’s fine,” Sabina said, walking by and giving Sam a reassuring pat on her back. “I’ll take care of it. By dinnertime tonight, we’re all going to be great friends!”

            Sam gave the girl a big grin. She trusted Sabina. She knew she would keep to her word.

            “All right, girls,” Sabina declared, marching into the living room with hands on her hips. Olivia, Marie, and Fallon all turned around with open looks, curious. “I know Sam’s new here, but that’s no reason to tease her, okay? My parents are going to be back soon and I don’t want them seeing all of you fighting. Tonight’s only going to be fun!”

            She finished this by throwing her arms in the air, exuding cheer and enthusiasm. Olivia was smiling and nodding, saying, “Oh, of course! That’s completely fine!”

            Marie pressed a hand to her chest, looking honestly surprised. She gave Sam a purely innocent look. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t know what we said hurt your feelings!”

            Fallon pouted her lips, bringing her eyebrows up in a look of apology. “Can you ever forgive us?”

            Sam blinked, staring at each of them in turn. This was a surprising turn of events. She didn’t expect these girls to take it so well. Maybe she had them all wrong after all. So she just gave them her best smile and said, “I forgive you. I’m just glad this is all over.”

            “So am I,” Sabina said, huffing with an air of confidence after having successfully navigated the situation. “Now it’s movie time!”

            They gathered on the seats around the TV, Olivia and Fallon making room so Sam could sit between them while Sabina and Marie decided on what movie to watch. Olivia complimented Sam’s shoes and Fallon asked how she got her hair to be so curly. Sam was pleased with this new, flattering attention, and as Sabina darkened the room and the TV screen lit up, Sam thought Olivia, Fallon, and Marie had finally accepted her.

            Unfortunately, Sam shouldn’t have been so naive.


	11. Sam vs. The Couch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: 3/15/2015 From this point onwards the plot is heavily altered to fit the events of the new version I worked out. So its, like, the rewrite of the rewrite. Whatever. At least the heavy action/plot starts sooner, right?

**Chapter Eleven**

**Sam vs. The Couch**

Throughout the movie marathon, as it were (John Hughes movies, but since Sam didn't know who he was, the clarification meant nothing to her), Sam was constantly asking questions.

Usually, it was about the plot of the movie, how it was made, why it was made, how did the cameras work; what _was_ a movie, really? She didn't really consider if she was affecting the experience of the others watching the movie, since Sabina answered all her questions (albeit in a rather strained tone that Sam couldn't understand). Sometimes she got satisfying answers, but more likely than not Sabina said "I don't know," leaving something to be desired.

But not all were as patient as Sabina. When Sam asked what a Walkman was, it was Fallon who said: "Jeez, Sam, just watch the movie!"

"I _am_ ," Sam replied, getting defensive because Fallon's tone surprised her. Why did she sound so angry? "But I just don't understand why everything in the movie looks so weird –?"

"That's because it was made in the Eighties," Sabina replied, before Fallon could disregard that question as well. "All that technology and fashion was from thirty years ago."

" _Oh_." Sam jolted – that idea had never occurred to her. In fact, Sam was convinced that this movie must have been filmed in some alternate universe where the culture was similar but the technology less advanced. "That makes total sense now."

Fallon rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath. Sam, not realizing she wasn't meant to hear that, just smiled at Fallon and said, "I know, right?"

The girl threw Sam a bewildered look but didn't say anything. Instead, they all returned to watching the movie, this time in silence as Sam ceased with the questions, having finally settled on an answer she was happy with.

They were half-way through the third rerun of _Pretty in Pink_ when Sabina's parents finally returned home – a man and a woman dressed in sweater vests, flat caps and shorts; carrying caddies and pulling off white gloves from their hands. They were already in the midst of a cheerful conversation when they walked through the door, seemingly not noticing the mass of girls in their living room to the left.

The woman, who Sabina seemed to have gotten her looks from (Sam figured her to be Sabina's mother), stopped in the middle of her sentence to wave to them and say, "Afternoon, girls! Having fun?"

Everyone looked over their shoulders and said "Yes!" simultaneously before turning back around to the TV.

"Where's Alex?" the man asked. "In his –"

"Room." Sabina replied, not even looking around this time. Apparently, this was common enough an answer not to bear any significance. "As usual."

The man just nodded his head, closing his eyes as if not surprised. "Of course he is."

The couple dropped their stuff off beside the door, heading towards the kitchen and going back to their conversation, something about birdies and lowest scores. Neither of them seemed to notice Sam at first, until Sabina's mother realized she didn't recognize one of the girls on the seats.

"Oh, whose this?" She said, stopping and putting her hands on her hips. The woman had the same accent as her daughter. "Sabina, you haven't introduced us to your new friend."

Sabina jumped up out of her seat, looking scared for a couple seconds. But since her mother didn't look angry, just curious, she smiled and said, "Oh yeah, I guess I forgot. Ah ha, Mum, this is Sam Bartowski. Sam, my Mum."

"Hello, Sam," Mrs. Pleasure gave Sam a brilliant white-toothed smile, an exact copy of Sabina's. Her attention went back to her daughter when she asked, "How did you two meet?"

"At the museum," Sabina said.

"At the bus stop." Sam replied at the same time. The two girls exchanged looks, Sabina's nervous, Sam confused. Why would Sabina lie?

Mrs. Pleasure frowned, looking from one girl to the other, waiting for a definite answer. But the silence went on as Sabina was too busy trying to find something to say to salvage the situation to actually say anything, while Sam was absolutely oblivious. Finally, the woman said, "Um, all right. Well, anyways, dinner will be ready in about thirty minutes. Can you all help set up the table?"

The movie was paused and everyone got up to gather more chairs, cups and utensils to place in the dining room. The table was fit for six people, but there were eight in total eating that night. Extra space was needed and the girls were going back and forth between the dining room and the kitchen to get dining materials and food.

Sam chose this point to ask, "Why did you lie?"

"What?" Sabina turned around, stopping in the doorway of the living room to look at Sam.

Fallon, who was right behind them, answered instead. "Because it would sound weird if she told the truth, that's why. Can you move, please?"

Sabina sidled out of the way and waited until the direct vicinity was clear before saying in a low tone. "It's just, well...she's kinda right. I don't want my Mum to get the wrong idea if she found out we met you sleeping on the bench."  
Sam paused to think of what 'wrong idea' that could be, but she drew a blank. Without thinking, she started speaking in the same whisper as Sabina. "What do you mean? What's wrong with sleeping on a bench? I got good sleep."

"That's not –" Sabina blinked at Sam before shaking her head and brushing her hair aside. "That's not what I meant. It's just that, if she thinks that's where you usually sleep, um..."

"But that's not how I usually sleep," Sam said, thinking it was silly to assume such a thing about a person without really getting to know them. Who went around and judged people on the unconfirmed ideas they had of them?

"I-I know," Sabina raised placating hands. "But Mum doesn't know that, and first impressions mean a lot to people here. You say the wrong thing and sometimes the damage can't be repaired."

"Damage?" Sam frowned. She didn't understand how her sleeping on a bench could harm another person. "But I didn't hurt anyone!"  
"That's not what I meant!" Sabina slapped her forehead.

Then Alex appeared, seemingly out of thin air (Sam had been distracted by the conversation) and leaning into the space between the two girls. "Hey. Why are we whispering?"

Sam opened her mouth to respond but Sabina just scowled at the intrusion and pushed Alex away. "Butt out. It's none of your business."

Sabina then walked out, flicking her hair over her shoulder so it would fly into Alex's face. He spluttered and swiped at it, looking a little disgruntled as Sabina disappeared around the corner. He turned to Sam and asked, "What's up with her?"

"She lied." Sam said, thinking that summed it up quite nicely. And with that, she too made her way back to the kitchen.

OoOoO

Dinner with the Pleasures' was quite unlike anything Sam had ever experienced before.

She was surprised that no one was asked to hunt for the meal. There were plenty of squirrels and birds outside fatter than any Sam had seen in the wilderness, that would've made for an excellent dinner – although she'd have to kill quite a few to feed eight people.

But no, that didn't happen. Apparently, there was such a thing called a supermarket and 'prepackaged meat' that made hunting redundant here. There was also processed wheat in the form of noodles and tomato innards in a can.

Sabina had to explain what it was her mother was making. Sam didn't know what pasta was, but it smelled a lot like Chuck's pepperoni-chicken. She earned a series of strange looks when she told the other girls this.

"What podunk little town never heard of pasta?" Marie said, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "Or even spaghetti?"

"Oh, I didn't live in a town," Sam said matter-of-factly, shaking her head. "I stayed in a cabin on the mountain. Just me and my mom."

"Well, you had a TV, at least," Olivia stated, as though this were something to be guaranteed.

"No."

Olivia stared at her. "Internet, then?"

"What's the Internet?" Sam thought she had heard that word before. Something Chuck said to her the day she landed in California.

Fallon just let her head fall into her hand, muttering, "This explains a lot."

"All right, everyone, dinner's ready!" Mrs. Pleasure called from the dining room. Much like the dinner at the Bartowski apartment, there was a lot of talking involved – which Sam, once again, had difficulty getting into. There had to be at least three conversations going on at once: Olivia, Fallon, and Marie were all talking (almost at once) with Sabina, who was also talking with her parents, who had their own chat going. While Sam could answer the questions thrown her way, she couldn't really contribute because she was too busy trying to keep track of each person speaking. It was frustrating, to say the least, because it slowed down her response time. Thankfully, she had more energy than the other night and this was a little easier, but even then she was far too mentally occupied to do much more than watch everything and eat her food.

The only one who wasn't talking at all was Alex, who seemed to be only concerned with cleaning his plate. Sam liked that about him – a little less she had to worry about. She wanted to ask about the incident in the closet, but she remembered the warning Sabina gave her. Don't talk about it with Alex. Don't talk about it in public. Don't talk about it at all.

These rules were very confusing and went against Sam's urge to find all the answers. But Sabina (and everyone else) knew better than her, so who was Sam to break the rules? Her mother would be angry if she forgot protocol in any situation, and this was no different.

There was no doubt in Sam's mind that if she intentionally went against what was advised, she would make the Pleasures' very angry. Would they kick her out? Sam hoped not, but she was not going to test her luck to find out.

At least the spaghetti was good. Sam had never tasted so many flavors at once. The parmesan cheese, as recommended by Mrs. Pleasure, made it even better. Sam decided she liked cheese. It wasn't exactly a well-stocked commodity in her little cabin. Her mother rarely got food that was manufactured, even animal products. Most was hunted or farmed, in an area that was not touched by another human hand.

The sun had set by the time the dinner was over. Sabina helped her mother put away dishes while Mr. Pleasure entertained the guests with various golfing tales. Alex had left early, leaving an empty plate behind before going upstairs. He had spoken not a single word the entire meal. Mrs. Pleasure watched him go with a hand over her mouth.

She said something under her breath, something Sam only heard because she was paying attention: "Oh, that boy...what am I going to do?"

Sam thought this was a strange thing to say, particularly when the woman wasn't talking to anyone in particular. She wanted to say something, perhaps to ask what Mrs. Pleasure meant, but she was distracted by a sudden burst of laughter at the other end of the table. The four other girls were sharing in a funny story and Sam immediately lost her train of thought and focused on them instead.

Dinner ended with quiet fanfare. Sam helped clean the table when everyone was done, while Sabina helped her mother clean the dishes before the adults decided to retire to their rooms and let the girls proceed with their 'sleepover' and change into pajamas.

Sam didn't know what that meant. Sabina explained that it's just when friends stay the night at someone else's house. She and the trio did this every week, rotating houses each time to keep things interesting. This weekend, it was Sabina's turn as host. And as custom of most sleepovers, everyone was supposed to sleep in the living room, even Sabina, who had her own bed.

(This part had Sam confused, but she figured that it would only be fair for Sabina to be with them instead of by herself in her own room).

The couch was much more comfortable than a bus stop bench. Olivia, Marie, and Fallon were apparently professional sleepover artists, because they brought their own sleeping bags, pillows, and pajamas. Sam had to borrow an old pair from Sabina.

The pajamas were a little small on Sam, considering she was several inches taller than Sabina. But she liked the pattern of the pants consisting of playful kittens with tiny balls of yarn in various colors. It made Sam want to have a purple kitten of her own, to cuddle with. In the back of her mind, she wondered what kind of breed that cat would be.

They continued watching movies after dinner, eating a variety of sweet and salty foods, like ice creams and potato chips. Marie called it junk food – the better it tasted, the more calories and fat it had. Then there was a long stretch where everyone shared in critiquing their own bodies.

"My thighs are too big," Olivia complained.

"I wish I had a flat stomach," Marie sighed.

"I have uggo man hands," Fallon wrinkled her nose, sticking her hands out with fingers splayed. "My nails have a weird shape to them."

"Jeez, guys, you're making me so depressed," Sabina shook her head, seeming tired of their dissatisfaction. She got up, saying, "I'm going to get more Oreos."

"What about you, Sam?" Marie asked as Sabina walked away.

"What about me?" Sam asked back.

"Isn't there something you don't like about yourself?" Marie frowned. She pointed to herself. "Like my hair is this boring blond color, so I die it black. What would you change about yourself?"

"Um," Sam said. She had to think about it, studying her feet as she considered her appearance. But Sam found nothing wrong, so she looked back up at the girls eagerly awaiting her answer and chirped, "Nope!"

She smiled at the girls, glad to find that she had no problems with herself. But apparently this was not the answer the girls wanted to hear. They exchanged dark looks, not as pleased to hear this as Sam was, and looked back to her. Fallon was the first to speak.

"Yeah, right, liar!" she said and before Sam could defend her honesty, Fallon continued with an accusing pointed finger, "No one's that happy with themselves. You're just making fun of us!"

Sam opened her mouth but Olivia spoke next. She didn't seem as angry as Fallon, but still looked unhappy with Sam's answer. Sounding entirely calm, she said, "Yeah, especially someone like you."  
"Someone like me?" Sam didn't understand what Olivia said. Who was she like? Was it bad? It didn't sound like a compliment. "What does that mean?"

"Oh, you know," Olivia shrugged, twirling a lock of red hair between her fingers. She motioned up and down towards Sam, referencing her whole body. Her light tone was inconsistent with the words she spoke. "I find it hard to believe you're happy with the state your hair is in."

"My hair?" a hand went to Sam's head. Her first thought was that something was stuck in it, like a leaf or a piece of food (it'd happened before). "What's wrong with my hair?"

Olivia just raised her eyebrows, looking skeptical. "Well, there's this invention called a hairbrush, ever heard of it?"

Sam scowled. Of course she knew what a hairbrush was – why was Olivia questioning her knowledge of such things? "Yes, I do, but how –"

"Well, clearly you don't," Marie interrupted with a snort, tossing her head back. She stuck a chip into her mouth and spoke around it, "And when's the last time you took a shower? You smell like my dog."

"And your nails," Fallon wrinkled her nose. When she mentioned them, Sam pulled her hand from her hair to look at them. Yet again, she found nothing wrong. Still, Fallon had something to say about it. "How many layers of dirt do you have under there? You dig holes in Montana?"

Sam couldn't respond. What these girls were saying made her feel bad and that seemed opposite of the idea of friendship, or Sam's very rudimentary understanding of it. She thought these girls had finally accepted her after Sabina told them to, but clearly they had something else in mind. She didn't know why it was so hard to say anything against Olivia (Sam figured her to be the leader of the trio) and her coordinated attacks.

Perhaps it was because whatever she said, each girl had her own counterpoint. Perhaps it was their willingness to act that way, completely unrepentant. Perhaps it was that Sam was entirely outnumbered and outmatched – it came down to the fact that her lack of skill with verbal communication meant that a battle through dialogue would be an exercise in defeat.

The only way Sam knew how to fight was with her fists, but this was not the occasion to use them. Every time Sam tried to defend herself, the trio shot her down.

"I don't dig holes with my hands," Sam said, wondering who on earth would be crazy enough to do that. "I'd use a shovel first."

"That's not helping," Marie said. "Do you even know what soap is?"

"Of course I do, I just forget sometimes to use it..." Sam stopped when she realized that this only proved their point. And the girls continued, relentless.

"Are you on medication?" Olivia asked. When Sam shook her head, Olivia made a face. "Well, _shouldn't_ you be?"

"I don't _have_ medication," Sam replied, entirely confused one what she would need to be medicated on. She wasn't injured, she wasn't sick. Her mother would know what Sam needed or not to survive. If medication was not necessary, then Sam didn't take it. "Why?"

"Your parents let you run around off your meds?" Fallon gaped, then shook her head and scoffed. "Well, that explains a lot."

Sabina returned (finally) with a bowl of ice cream and a bowl of cookies. Her arrival immediately silenced everyone. She looked around, apparently sensing something was off here. "...hey, guys. What're you gabbing about?"

"Oh, Sam was saying how much she didn't like her hair," Olivia piped with a cheerful smile, as though their entire conversation were nothing more than good fun. "But it's nothing a little conditioner and a hairbrush can't fix."

"Yeah, she doesn't like how grungy she looks," Marie added, her voice far too sweet. "We're just saying getting better clothes will help."

"You know, constructive criticism," Fallon finished, turning and said, "Right, Sam?"

Four pairs of eyes watched Sam as she struggled to find the appropriate answer. Say the wrong thing and Sam knew the trio would tear her apart. Call her a liar, certainly, as that seemed to be an instinctual response, as well as further insults. Sam knew that these were not her friends, but she could not make herself saying anything against them, not in front of Sabina who certainly considered them so. Sam liked Sabina, who seemed to be the one genuinely kind person in the room – and even though she may have only known Sabina for a day, Sam didn't want to forsake their friendship by causing problems with the trio.

So Sam just strained a smile and said, "Yeah, right."

"Okay," Sabina tilted her head and smiled, pleased that everything was going smoothly. Sam felt something inside her wilt. It wasn't big lie by any means, but it still kind of hurt. But if Sabina was happy, Sam could live with that.

Olivia, Marie, and Fallon left her alone after that. Sam considered that a victory, if a minor one, and went back to the Rubix cube she had abandoned some time ago. Her mind wasn't really into it, half distracted by the giggles and whispers the others were sharing during the movie (which was a diversion in itself), so Sam often found herself messing up and ruining whatever progress she had already made with getting the colors by themselves.

About forty minutes in, Sam gave up and decided for an early turn in. She didn't particularly care that the girls were still talking, that the movie was still playing and going entirely unnoticed. Rolling on her side and putting her back to the others, Sam tucked the blanket over her shoulder and closed her eyes.

She opened them again perhaps two hours later. The living room was dark, the TV off and lights out. The windows outside showed a black sky with sleeping buildings lonely streets. The street lights casted a faint orange light into the room, long shadows spreading across the floor. It had to be nearing eleven o' clock now.

Sam glanced over her shoulder to see that Sabina had fallen asleep as well in her sleeping bag on the floor, the soft rise and fall of the cover saying she couldn't hear the trio still whispering.

"...So gross..." Marie said. "Not caring about hygiene at all."

"Who the hell doesn't take showers?" Sam recognized Fallon's hiss. "I bet she's not even from America."

"I'm more concerned about the fact that she's not taking anything," That was Olivia. "When she clearly should be on, like, Adderall or something. I mean, like, what if she just snaps and attacks us? I can't believe she's even allowed in public like that."

"What a spaz." Marie said. "I bet she'll end up in an asylum one day."

"Yeah, and keep her heavily sedated so she won't run off anywhere," Fallon added. "Or ask any more stupid questions."

The girls sniggered. Sam blinked her eyes, trying to get rid of the burning sensation. What was wrong with her? Her mother would chastise her for letting these girls' words get to her like that. She just wished they'd be quiet so she'd go back to sleep.

Sam adjusted her blanket, inadvertently silencing the girls who may or may not have realized they had an eavesdropper. But Sam didn't say anything and the sounds of rustling cloth filled the room as the trio finally settled in for the night. Sam closed her eyes, clutching the Rubix cube to her chest.

The second time Sam opened her eyes, she heard a noise.

It wasn't Olivia or the others talking again. No, it was a soft noise, softer than a whisper, the sound something makes when it wanted to be very quiet.

At first Sam thought it was one of the girls getting up, but she heard the noise again, somewhere above her. Rolling on her back, Sam opened her eyes and took in as much as she could without getting up. Something felt wrong here. The air was colder, having dropped five degrees. Did someone open a window? It wasn't that warm to begin with.

Her internal clock told her it was well past midnight. Who could possibly be up at this hour (not including Sam, who had been woken up by their noise)? Glancing over at the girls, Sam counted four and decided that it could either be two things: the noise was coming from the other residents in the house going to the bathroom.

Or someone had broken in.


	12. Alex vs. The Red Circle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: 3/15/15 - switched POVs for this sequence, and pushing Sarah's chapter one forward. Check out the ending for the last chapter if you need to catch up.
> 
> Again, I want to say I'm rewriting the plot from this point onward. The last time things were taking too long to get started and I'm picking up the pace this time.
> 
> Please read and review!

**Chapter Twelve**

**Alex vs. The Red Circle  
**

Someone was inside the house.

Alex lied still on his bed, arms behind his head, yet he was far from relaxed. Sleep had been evading him as it did every night. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise – because no one else had heard the soft thunk of a door opening and feet creeping across creaky wood floors.

He didn't react right away. At first, Alex was sure he was merely hallucinating, his paranoia acting up again. It was probably just someone going to the bathroom, he rationalized to himself. But he had heard no door being closed, no water running, no toilet being flushed. Alex wondered if there were other reasons to be up at this ungodly hour, before finally admitting to himself that he was never going to know if he didn't deal with this _right now_.

Like a panther he slid from his sheets to the floor beneath him, landing silently on toes and fingers. Still crouched, Alex crept towards the door – it was already a crack open, and it swung in without a sound. He emerged to the hallway on the other side, looking to the right, towards the master bedroom before thinking to check down the stairs.

Turning his head to the left, Alex saw a dark shape out of the corner of his eye and recoiled in surprise – but recognized it as Sam. And not a second too soon, either; he had been _this_ close to kicking her down the stairs.

She gazed at him with those too-wide eyes, apparently clueless to how close Alex had come to hurting her. Sam didn't say anything, just jerked her chin when another noise came from down the hallway.

Without any exchange of words, Alex knew that she was here for the same reason he was. She must've heard the noises, too – well, it was nice to feel validation for his paranoia, even if it was from the craziest person in this house.

Alex brought a finger to his lips, then pointed down the hall. Sam nodded, padding towards him, her footsteps muffled by the carpet. The hallway went in two directions from the stairs, one towards the bathroom and Sabina's bedroom, the other to a storage closet and the master bedroom.

Sam followed him as they headed towards the door at the end of the hall.

They passed the storage closet. Now that they were closer, Alex could see shadows moving inside the master bedroom. There was a current of cool air flowing across the ground, coming from the crack beneath the door. As soon as he was close enough, Alex reached out and pressed his fingers against the wood, gently pushing it open. With barely a squeaky hinge, they peered in.

Mr. and Mrs. Pleasure were still in their bed, sleeping and completely none the wiser to the intruder in their room. The man, as identified by his physique, was riffling through Mrs. Pleasure's jewelry box and boudoir, but too Alex's surprise he wasn't taking anything. The man also wasn't carrying any bag a would-be burglar would need to stash their stolen goods.

What was he doing?

The man was going through the picture frames, peering at the faces through the faint moonlight streaming through the balcony doors. Alex frowned – this _definitely_ was not burglar behavior. What was he even looking for?

Right now, it wasn't important. Alex was already formulating a plan of attack as he waited for the man to come around the bed. He had the element of surprise on his side and intended to use it.

Neither he nor Sam heard the door opening in the hall behind her. Alex's only warning was the muffled crunch of carpet under boot before two large hands appeared out of the corner of his eye, slammed down on Sam's shoulders, and yanked her back before he could even react.

Sam, taken by surprise, uttered a shriek that made everyone in the room jump.

As she disappeared from view, the bed sheets in front of Alex exploded as the Pleasure's were startled from their sleep. At the same time the first burglar turned around, the room filling with incoherent, sleepy cries.

The burglar's first reaction to this upheaval was to reach for his waistband. The action was one Alex was all too familiar – he had seen it countless times, by cops, thugs, and psychopaths alike.

Alex didn't wait to see the weapon before he shot up from his spot, jumping onto the bed and throwing his body at the man, winding his leg back just as the intruder pulled out his gun.

The man had just looked up in time to see Alex before the boy's foot met his chest. As the man reeled, dropping the weapon as Alex landed on his feet, fists raised in a defensive stance. Alex was mildly impressed with his own ability – although he was still a little rusty from inactivity and almost no practice, muscle memory still proved handy in a moment of crisis.

The Pleasures were equally surprised by his sudden burst of action, and were now yelling at the top of their lungs. Perhaps they were just now realizing that the balcony doors were open and there were two (maybe more) intruders in their house. He hoped they would regain their senses soon; it had not occurred to Alex to call the police, and now it was too late for him to attempt so.

The intruder, a thickset man who would take a lot more than a single kick to the chest. Both glanced at the fallen gun at the same time, then lunged in unison. Alex, the faster of the two, managed to swipe it under the bed and out of the way at the last second.

The man changed tactics and spun around, wrapping his arms around Alex and trapping the boy in a headlock that he couldn't wrestle his way out of. The man was already choking Alex as he struggled, biting, scratching, kicking, anything to get out of the hold of the stronger man.

It proved fruitless. Despite his efforts, Alex could not pry the arms off and any blows to the man's stomach or arms or legs had absolutely no effect, at least none that he could see. In fact, it was getting rather hard to see anything.

Running out of options, Alex lifted up both feet and slammed them against the bedpost – the force of which was so strong that it shifted the bed forward and the combatants backwards. The intruder, unbalanced, tripped backwards, slamming into the back wall and knocking down several picture frames.

He released Alex in his attempt to brace his fall and the boy stumbled forward, gasping and coughing as air returned to his lungs.

His foster parents were still screaming. Mrs. Pleasure was throwing whatever objects she could find at the intruder while Mr. Pleasure was scrambling for the phone, inputting the wrong emergency number before having to try again and get it right.

Alex could not count on the police getting here in time to alleviate the situation. There was absolutely _no way_ they could get here fast enough, and these men looked ready to kill – the faster he acted, the quicker this would be over.

The burglar, not yet fazed, shook his head and grabbed Alex as the boy was still recovering and landed a powerful blow across his face.

Alex's head snapped to the side and, ears ringing and tasting blood, it was all he could do not to fall. He didn't, thanks to the man with the grip on him, and as he found his footing beneath him, Alex used his standing momentum to slam an uppercut into the intruder's jaw.

Not waiting for him to react, Alex grabbed the man and threw him – something he didn't even know he could do until he tried. He supposed that was one of the advantages to growing up.

What he didn't expect was to be pulled down with burglar, who had snatched Alex's shirt as he fell. He tried to jerk away, yanking on the man's leather vest, but the burglar's hand was knotted in his own clothes and Alex nearly choked trying to get away.

He didn't have to worry about suffocation, however. The larger man hit his head on the corner table and was already dazed when he hit the ground.

Alex managed to grab the edge of the same table before he could land on top of the burglar, who had let go of him. When the burglar tried to get up again, Alex took the advantage and landed two swift strikes to the man's jaw.

The man slumped back, sufficiently incapacitated. Alex got back up to his feet, wiping his mouth and observing the man's impressive array of tattoos on his chest.

Only one in particular caught his eye.

A large red circle. Undecorated, unadorned, no writing or other symbols. It seemed so out of place amongst the various intricate designs of dragons, tigers, and swirling patterns.

But it didn't need any of that for Alex to understand what it meant.

He already knew.

Alex felt his blood run cold. _No_. No way. How was this possible? How could they know? Mrs. Jones had _assured_ him that he was safe, that he would never –

The burglar groaned, already recovering. He shifted and tried to get up, blinking slowly in the darkness and unable to comprehend the form of the boy standing over him. Alex was vaguely aware of the shouting of the Pleasures' behind him, but they didn't register on an analytical level. All Alex could see was the man before him, the burglar who was anything but.

Alex, still reeling from this sudden revelation, was slow to react. He couldn't believe it. Surely it was some coincidence, maybe the tattoo meant something else...

With his luck, it probably didn't.

It took a shout to kick Alex back into gear. Alex hopped back on one foot, swinging the other leg around. His bare heel connected to the man's cheekbone, and there came the sickening crack as bone fractured upon impact – and the man dropped once more.

He jerked his head up, searching for the source of the shout. It hadn't been either of his foster parents, and had originated not from behind him, but in front of him. He saw two figures having at it in the corridor, and launched forward from his spot.

Alex was already thinking of ways to take the other man down, but he needn't have worried. The second intruder had Sam by the hair, she him by the throat. Her fist slammed into his trachea just as Alex skidded onto the scene.

As the man gagged for breath, Alex grabbed the nearest object he could find – Mrs. Pleasure's favorite crystal vase – just as Sam brought up her leg, slamming her foot into the burglar's knee cap. The man let out a beastly screech as he dropped and released her hair, but Sam wasn't done yet. She brought up her elbow down on his shoulder. The man jerked, rendered silent, and keeled over, a writing ball of pain.

Just when Alex thought he didn't need the vase after all, Sam's eyes flicked up and she opened her mouth in a sudden scream. "Look out!"

Alex whipped around on the spot – had a split second to see the first burglar charging at him – before ducking out of the way and bringing down both arms on the man's head as he passed.

A mighty crash. Crystal shards everywhere. Blood on his hands.

Two red circles, one for each man, burning into his mind.

Alex stared at the two men groaning at his feet, stumbling away in shock. His back hit the wall and it was all he could do to keep from slipping to the floor. He looked at his hands – knuckles bruised and bloody, palms covered in lesions from the now-shattered crystal vase. So much damage.

And to think just five minutes ago he was lying in his bed, staring at his ceiling and wishing sleep would finally take him. How did things change so quickly?

But it wasn't over yet.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked, noting Alex's behavior and drawing closer. Brow drawn down, she reached out to touch the side of his face, which was starting to tingle, and he flinched away from her hand. It hadn't hurt before, and it Alex remembered that the adrenalin probably stopped him from feeling any debilitating pain. Now that the excitement had faded, he was going to start to feel a lot of bruises.

Despite this, Alex nodded, trying to find the right words to say, but before he could answer there was the sound of thunder and the other four girls appeared at the top of the staircase landing. There was a collective gasp at the sight of the fallen trespassers.

Sabina's hand flew to her mouth. Alex thought she would say something about his state, but instead she cried, "Oh, my god! Did you kill them?"

"They're just unconscious," Sam explained with a shrug of her shoulders.

"Holy shit," Marie stared.

"Like out of movie," Fallon intoned, sharing wide-eyed glances with Olivia, who added, "Yeah, the scary kind."

The look of shock in the trio's eyes was strangely satisfying. It seemed they finally understood that Sam poised a threat to them if they tried to push her too far. A fair warning for what might happen in the future. It was also one that Alex filed for later – he just realized how unbelievably quick Sam was to dispatch the second burglar. The skill and speed with which she delivered the blows belied with this naive, confused little girl who could be cowed with cruel words and end up lost in a city far from home.

"Girls, you shouldn't come up here, it's not safe!" Mrs. Pleasure strode out into the hall, holding out her arms to keep the teenagers from venturing deeper into the house. She looked panic, which was an appropriate response, but her reaction to the bodies before her was not. "Oh, no, my Swarovski!"

Alex made a face, wondering if the woman had even noticed the wounds he (and for that matter, Sam) had earned from the fight. But before he could remark on the matter, Mr. Pleasure rushed out with phone in hand, saying, "I've called the police, they'll be here any minute now – Blimey, did you kill him?"

At this point Alex had lost all patience with the situation. "Would it really be so bad if we did?"

Mr. Pleasure did a double take at the boy's response, but Alex once more failed to get any satisfaction out of it because the man did not say anything about his appearance. Alex could taste blood on his lips and he must've had a black eye, or at least a bruised cheek – was that not worth mentioning?

Or perhaps the Pleasures had become desensitized to Alex's antics and no longer found it odd. It was a cynical thought, and not one he wanted to voice, but Alex didn't like the reality it brought to mind.

"Everyone, down stairs _now_ ," Mrs. Pleasure ordered, shepherding all the teens into the living room. They waited there until the police arrived, as Mr. Pleasure predicted. It wasn't until Alex saw the flashing blue and red lights did she start to feel nervous. Mrs. Pleasure had explained that the police will want all their testimonies, who they are and why they're here.

Alex wasn't sure what to do. Like, how often did they run into a teenage boy as skilled as he was? Alex doubted that they would jump to the conclusion of 'teen spy' but it was the only thing he could think about. Would the police find it suspicious how he acted?

Surprisingly, no. There were perhaps ten cops in all, several of which had gone upstairs to retrieve the burglars and haul them back into the truck they brought along. While this happened, three or four police officers went through the house occupants and took their statements – at the head of this mission was a man by the name of Detective Caruthers, and he had something to say about Sam's story.

"So, you claim to have no connection to the robbers tonight, correct?" the man asked, tapping his pen to the notepad in hand. He had a thick brown mustache and beady eyes that never seemed to smile. Alex, already done with his statement (it consisted of exactly three whole sentences), watched from across the living room, mildly fascinated by sight.

"Yes," Sam said, looking up at the man in a curious manner, like she didn't understand the reason behind the detective's scowl. "Why?"

"Oh, nothing," Caruthers said in a way that meant he didn't think that at all. "I just find it odd that you've just met this family and happened to know the layout of the house very well before all of this happened. Seems a little too coincidental, if you know what I mean."  
"I don't understand," Sam said, and Alex watched her reaction closely. Now that he thought about it, Caruthers had a point, and he wanted to see if his worst suspicions were true. Could Sam really be in on it? Was she a part of the Triad? It seemed unlikely as she was not Asian in the slightest, but Alex would be a fool to be deceived by appearances alone.

Then she straightened up, looking the detective in the eye. "Is this an interrogation? I thought I was just supposed to say what happened."

"Er," Detective Caruthers leaned back a little, perhaps deterred by her rather direct question. He cleared his throat before saying, "Of course not, Miss Bartowski. I'm just here to get all the facts right, that's all. I wasn't implying anything."

Sam sat back in her seat, a little disgruntled. "That's what I thought. But those burglars knew about this house longer than I did."

Detective Caruthers furrowed his brow, which made his eyes look even squintier than before. Even Alex leaned in a little; this was news to him. The detective said, "Oh, really. What makes you say that?"

"They came in through the second floor balcony," Sam said. Alex at first wondered how she even knew that, then remembered how she had scoped out the house upon first entering. But how did she figure it to be relevant?

She continued, "That was the only unlocked entrance into the house. I know, I checked."

_Well._

"So?" the man said, holding his hand up in the hair. Apparently, he didn't see the logical conclusion of Sam's sentence, even though Alex knew she wasn't wrong – the doors had been open when he entered the room. "That doesn't prove they knew about it. It was probably just a lucky guess."

"That's a lot of effort for a lucky guess," Sam replied just as quickly. "Why scale a building to get to the one door that may or may not be unlocked? Maybe they checked all the bottom doors and windows, but it would have been less effort to pick the lock or break the glass. I think they were staking this house long before I got here, long enough to know that the upper floor balcony doors weren't lock, allowing for easy and silent access."

"Hm," Detective Caruthers studied her for a moment before snapping his notebook shut, not writing any of that down. "Interesting analysis. Now, where did you say you were from again?"

"Los Angeles."

"Got a phone number we can call?"

"Um, no."

His eyes widened enough that Alex, even all the way back here, could see that the man had hazel eyes. "Do your parents know you're here, Miss Bartowski?"

"Not exactly."

Detective Caruthers sighed, running a hand through his short, graying hair. "All right, then. Well, looks like we'll have to bring you to the station and try to contact your parents, since there's no way I'm leaving a minor here with what are, essentially, strangers."

There wasn't much any of them could argue to that. Sam didn't want to go but Mr. and Mrs. Pleasure pushed the idea, suddenly concerned that Sam was in San Francisco all by herself. Alex realized that no one had even told them that she was here on her own, then decided he was feeling spiteful and didn't care, since they showed so little concern for him at the moment. He got some mild treatment from some paramedics who had also come to treat the burglars (who definitely had it worse), and he was feeling a little better now that the painkillers were starting to kick in.

Sabina assured Sam that this was the best, while neither the trio nor Alex said anything either way. So Sam changed back into her day clothes, put back on her shoes (rechecked for her knife as reassurance), and grabbed her backpack before walking out the door and back into the night.

She was placed in the back seat of a police cruiser. As the others went to bed – the girls all heading into Sabina's bedroom, where the door could lock and it was considered safer – Alex remained watched the rest of the proceedings from his room. One by one the police cars and singular ambulance left, taking their new convicts with them. Detective Caruthers ushered Sam to his own vehicle, still talking to her. The girl didn't have any handcuffs, but considering the situation and the man's suspicion, she might as well have.

Alex watched from his window as they drove off. From here he could see Sam turning to watch the house as they left, offering a scant wave even though there was no one to return it.

When they turned the corner and disappeared from sight, Alex returned to his bed. Even after all this, he still wasn't going to get any sleep. Lot of good _that_ did him.

Then he noticed the Rubik's cube resting on his bedside table. Sam had given it to him to scramble again earlier that night – he had forgotten to return it.

Alex stared at the toy for a few minutes more, the gears starting to turn inside his head. He still had a lot of questions that needed to be answered – the burglar's motives, who sent them, what the Triad wanted...and what Sam had to do with them.

Maybe she was innocent in all this. Maybe all of this was just fate.

There was only one way to know for sure.

Alex grabbed the cube as he headed out the door, shrugging on his jacket and stuffing his feet into his trainers. He made no sound as he snuck down the stairs. The house had fallen silent once more, everyone returning to their peaceful dreams.

With little more than a jingle of car keys and the quiet slide of a doorknob, the boy slipped out into the night.


	13. Alex vs. The Gas Pump

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Further changes to the plot. I definitely like this version better. Enjoy!
> 
> I'm also changing the order of this chapter and chapter 14. 14 is from another POV and I only realized recently that I kind of skipped it in editing, but its a minor change and won't be a detrimental effect to the story. And I really like this chapter, so it should probably go first anyways.
> 
> (It's also a lot longer than I thought it would be. I didn't think the fight scene would take up such a big part of the chapter haha).

**Chapter Thirteen**

**Alex vs. The Gas Pump**

Alex did not want to leave in the middle of the night to pick up Sam. But he knew if he didn't, he would never get another chance to speak to her again.

Sam would not be returned to the Pleasure household. The police would keep her until her family could be contacted and someone came to pick her up at the station. While Alex wasn't particularly concerned whether Sam would like it there or not, he knew that it probably wouldn't be the best night she'd ever have. Or maybe it was like a five-star hotel compared to her cabin. Or the bus stop bench. He couldn't really tell with a girl like that.

So Alex found himself driving to the station. At least he passed his driver's test and no longer needed an adult to accompany him. Alex liked driving, especially at night. It was peaceful, non-stressful, and he didn't have to worry about stoplights. He would do it more often, but the Pleasures owned only one vehicle.

He hoped Sam wasn't in trouble. He hoped they didn't lock her up in one of those cells they have around for temps until the wardens came to take them to the big house. Did the police still think she had something to do with the burglary?

Alex didn't think Sam was malicious enough, but her words were pretty damning.

There was only one way to find out.

When he finally arrived and entered the front doors, Alex was surprised to see Sam curled up on one of the waiting benches, chest rising and falling in the soft throes of sleep. There was a woman at the reception desk, speaking on a phone. She glanced up at Alex when he entered, but must have found his scowl and leather jacket unremarkable, because she went right back to what she was doing.

The benches were arranged like pews in a church. The area was well lit and roomy, with echoes from other rooms. Alex was wary of the other inhabitants of the seats – most of them were people you'd expect to find in a police station (besides cops). Even though they had their backs to him, Alex could tell those college kids were drunk out of their minds. There was a burly man in the far right corner, glowering at floor. He had mutton chops and a motorcycle jacket with the sleeves ripped off. Alex took one look at the man's bloody knuckles and immediately started edging away.

As he started for Sam sleeping in the middle set of the aisle, a hand grabbed him. Alex jumped and had to resist the urge to take the offending arm and twist it behind the owner's back. But he looked down and saw it was only a woman dressed in a tube top and mini skirt. There was a cigarette between her purple lips. She looked to be in her mid-thirties.

He didn't say anything, just waited for her to do something first. The woman smiled, winking a blue-shadowed eye at him and saying, "Hey, there, Romeo, you looking for a good time?"

"Uh, no thank you," Alex pried the woman's talons from around his wrist and broke away without a look back. He ducked down behind Sam's row, trying not to look up and meet the woman's eye. He rested a hand on Sam's shoulder, gently shaking her awake. Whispering, he said, "Hey, Mountain Girl, wake up. We gotta go."

"Hmm?" Sam rolled her head to look up at him, squinting through sleepy eyes. She blinked several times, apparently not recognizing him. Mumbling, she said, "That's not my name."

"Y-yeah, I know, just come on," Alex rolled his eyes, not in the mood to explain nicknames to a girl who preferred benches to beds. "You don't want to stay here."

Sam rubbed at her eyes and sat up. He stood back, waiting for her to get to her feet. Alex's gaze happened to wander over to the woman in the back, who tittered and waved at him. Alex quickly looked down again, suppressing a shudder. Sam was still grumbling as she got to her feet, "I was having such a nice dream..." she yawned, stretching her arms over her head. "What time is it?"

Alex brought up his wrist to check but Sam had already answered her own question. "Not even two yet. Why is getting a good night's sleep here so hard?"

"Bad luck?" Alex was getting impatient. As soon as Sam was on her feet, he was already moving. She stumbled after him, frowning at the other individuals in this room. When they passed the smoking woman, Alex carefully dodged the outreach of a hand, which Sam managed to do so when in turn.

Behind them, the woman called, "Well, aren't you just a knight in shining armour?"

Of course, this just made Sam confused. They stopped at the door and she looked at him with a furrowed brow. "What is she talking about? You're not wearing armour."

"It's a figure of speech, just ignore it," Alex said, heaving the door open and pushing her out. They got down the steps and headed straight for the car. Sam seemed to know it was his already, and didn't ask any questions as to why he showed up. Well, at least that was one blessing he could count on.

Before he unlocked the car, though, Alex turned to Sam and said, "Show me your arms."

"What? Why?" Sam threw him a bewildered look.

"Just do it." Alex was giving her the benefit of the doubt. If Sam really was Triad, then she'd be here on a mission, and so far she had at least a dozen opportunities to kill him, and most of them weren't even in public. But he still had to be careful, and gut feeling alone wasn't going to be good enough for him.

"Uh, okay," Sam, thankfully, didn't keep asking 'why' like a five-year-old and shrugged off her sweater. Underneath she wore a t-shirt that revealed the entirety of her arms and parts of her shoulder. "What's this about? Is something wrong?"

Nothing. No tattoos. No words, no pictures, no red circles. Thank goodness. The only notable things he saw were the collection of bruises she earned from the burglars, as well as some odd scars around her left arm. It was too dark to get a good look at any of them, and really Alex wasn't all that concerned. He was just glad she didn't have that tattoo.

Alex just heaved a sigh. He decided it was best she didn't know. "It's nothing. Did the police find your family?"

"No," Sam said, pulling her sweater back on. She still had that funny expression on her face, and Alex knew he hadn't dodged the Triad issue entirely. Sam was going to ask him again, soon, and would keep doing so until she got a satisfactory answer. Alex hoped he could find a decent lie by that point. "My cousin must be living under a private number, because they can't find him in any registry. At least, that's what they told me. They wanted me to stay until they could find someone to take me home. Did you really come all this way just to check my arms?"

Yep, there it was. Alex glanced at the road as he thought of his next move, his next excuse, empty but not entirely quiet at this time of night. There were sirens and car honks in the distance, mostly from the downtown area. Out in the suburbs it was quieter, although drunkards had a tendency to wander the streets in the wee hours of the morning.

He sighed, knowing that there wasn't a lot of options for him right now. With the Triad on his tail, he couldn't return home. The Pleasures had already come too close to danger and Alex wasn't willing to put them through that again. He had to get out of there, out of the city entirely.

"No," he told her, not necessarily a lie. "I'm heading south. I can take you to Los Angeles, it'll be on my way."

Sam smiled at the news, but then it flickered when she started thinking about it too much. "That's great. But at this time of night? Do your parents know?"

A chill shot through his chest. Alex's tone was clipped when he said, "They're not my parents. Are you coming or not?"

"Yeah, sure," Sam said, smiling again, as if she didn't see the dark look that crossed Alex's face. "It's only a stone's throw away, right?"

"Right," he muttered. Boy, she was going to be in for a rough surprise when she found out just how far away the two cities were. Not in the mood to break the news to her now, Alex finally turning his back to the girl and opening the door to the car. As he slid inside and started the car, Sam took her place in the passenger's seat.

They didn't talk much after that. Soon after entering the streets, Alex made the executive decision to find a gas station – the tank was only half full, and they were going to need a lot more if they wanted to get even halfway to LA. And Alex didn't plan that to be his endpoint – he'd keep going, maybe to San Diego, maybe all the way into Mexico. Or maybe he'll go east. Get as far away from the Triad as he could, disappear into the empty deserts and boundless wheat fields of the American heartland.

Sam needed to hear something besides the car engine and the wind blowing past the windows, so the radio was turned on. She didn't know any of the songs, and couldn't answer when he asked what kind of music she liked. More silence, then Alex finally found a gas station with decent prices. He had hard cash and a debit card, the latter of which he intended to use at the beginning of his trip, to make it difficult for anyone trying to track his movements. All they would find out from this little excursion was that he had a car, and intended to get the hell out of this city.

There were only two pumps and one store clerk inside the station. It was very lonely, the fluorescent yellow mood lighting making the place even more isolated. The city was dark and quiet. Only distance sirens could be heard. At this time of night, most people would be in bed, sleeping or watching infomercials.

He left Sam day-dreaming (or was it just regular dreaming? It was night, but she was awake, and clearly in another world) in the car as he got out to fill up the tank.

He didn't know how much money he had on the card when he swiped it through the machine, only that the Pleasures added a monthly balance to it – surprisingly, Alex didn't use it as often as they thought he would. Perhaps a regular teenager would be ecstatic to have their own cash to spend on whatever their hearts desired; but Alex could hardly be considered an average teenager.

Besides, he never much liked shopping anyways.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Alex leaned against the car and looked up at the ceiling of the station canopy as he waited for the tank to fill. A cursory scan of the area told him that the cameras were just fakes to fool would-be criminals, and the station didn't even have a sprinkler system in case of a fire. This place was a dump.

The seconds passed slowly. Alex considered going back into his car, maybe turn on the radio just for a break in the silence. Sam had fallen asleep inside, a blessing in disguise. Alex wasn't sure how much of her he could handle, especially since there was no one else for the girl to divert her attention to. He almost considered if it would just be better if he took her back to the police station. But he got this far, and he didn't want to waste any gas. It'd just be better if she got back home. Before things went bad.

Because they were definitely about to get bad.

Alex just didn't know how soon that would be.

He certainly wasn't thinking it would happen within the next five minutes.

Through the mirror he spotted movement. Behind him, there's a truck and out pop three scruffy looking guys in torn jeans, leather jackets, and high-quality trainers. Alex can hear them talking to each other, laughing and goofing off. The ground shook slightly as the truck's bass speakers play out a heavy rap tune.

Alex continued to watch their movements in the mirror, mildly curious as they talked quietly to themselves. Standing in a tight circle, he couldn't read their lips - not that he could anyways, since all he was hearing was in Chinese.

One of them, the tallest, was motioning angrily with his hands. Alex frowned, because the angle the mirror was giving him as a warped view of the area, it seemed as though the man was pointing at _him_...

Alex's first instinct was to run but he crushed it as soon as it occurred to him. That would be irrational, leaving the fueling car (and Sam) behind like this. And as far as he could tell, the gang had no idea Alex was aware of them.

Were they Triad? It was hard to tell with them wearing jackets, but at this point Alex wouldn't be surprised. He was fortunate Sam turned out to be innocent, but it seemed as though his luck had ran out. After the failure of the burglary, the Triad would only send more men after him. One boy against an army of revenge-obsessed killers? He won the first battle - the war, however, he would not survive.

What would they want? To take him, to kill him, to make an example of him, who knows. All Alex cared about was not letting them get what they wanted.

To test his theory, Alex turned towards the driver door and opened it - watching out of the corner of his eye as the group froze - before poking his head inside. Sam, still drowsy, blinked at him in questioning.

"We might be getting some trouble," he told her, keeping his expression neutral and refusing to look at the gang even once in case they realized he was on to them. "Just letting you know."

"Where?" Her brow drew down and she was about to twist her head to look around, but Alex reached out and grabbed her shoulder, keeping the girl's attention on him.

"No," he said, resisting the urge to raise his voice. The pressure to act natural made his grip far more forceful than it had to be. Don't look behind you, or they'll know. Use the mirrors."

Tilting her head ever so slightly, Sam's gaze flicked to the side mirror, then the rear view, both offering views of the men who Alex was sure were up to no good. A quick glance told him one had headed inside the store. Sam must have registered them as threats, too, because she didn't question his judgment, only nodded her head.

Instead, she said, "What do they want?"

Alex withdrew his hand, glancing behind him as the pump made a loud _thunk_ sound - the car tank was full. "Probably the same thing as the burglars. Stay in the car."

"Wait, what do you mean -" Sam's voice raised in pitch to the rather damning answer, but Alex had already slammed the door shut.

Facing the pump, Alex was all tensed up as he removed the nozzle from the car. Waiting for the receipt to print, Alex could no longer hear the gang talking. It had gotten oddly quiet at the station.

Once more he glanced up at the round mirror overhead. What he saw made his heart jump.

Two of the three thugs were sneaking around the car, one from either end. Alex couldn't physically see them at this angle, but instead of turning around and confronting them, he made himself wait.

The closer one, wearing a red bandana over his head, was coming around the back end of the car. Alex watched as Red Bandana removed something from his pocket - it glimmered under the yellow light.

That should have been when Alex acted, but still he made himself wait. Heart thudding in his throat. Alex heard the crunch of gravel to his left as Red Bandana took another step closer. Was Alex being too patient? Was he giving Red Bandana the advantage by letting him get this close? Was it too late?

No. At least, not yet.

Another step. In the mirror, Red Bandana's reflection raised his arm, hand curled around his pocket knife.

He was less than two meters away. The machine just finished printing the receipt. Alex pulled it out. Glanced at the charge before folding it between his fingers.

A shift in his weight. Alex looked down, then raised his hand.

Red Bandana took one more step, made to close the distance between them.

Then Alex flicked the paper at him.

It zipped past Red Bandana's head; the man paused, momentarily surprised. That would be a mistake.

Distracted, Red Bandana didn't even see the follow-up punch before it landed on his chin. He grunted in surprise, head whipping around. The blade dropped.

Still dazed, the man was entirely defenseless when Alex slammed his palm into the man's chest, knocking him back a step.

Then Alex grabbed his shoulders and threw him into the gas pump. The red bandana did little to protect the thug's head when it cracked against the metal, creating a sizable dent.

The man dropped, unconscious.

Alex had no time to survey his work before he dodged the incoming blow from the other thug behind him.

Having seen his comrade dismantled with such ease, the second man reacted in anger. Dubbed Shades, due to his proclivity to wearing sunglasses at night, he roared and threw his entire body at Alex, intending to take him down all at once.

That made him extremely easy to dodge. But Alex no longer had the element of surprise on his side. He tried swiping at Shades, but the man blocked it and retaliated with a kick to his stomach.

Alex was thrown backwards, the breath pulled from his lungs. His back hit the Tarmac, head narrowly missing the curb. It would have been a very short fight had he been gored.

He supposed he was lucky because instead of pouncing on him like a pragmatic man, Shades took the opportunity to gloat. He sneered at the boy wheezing for air. Shades pulled a pair of brass knuckles from his pocket, slipped them over his fingers. He said something in Chinese, perhaps a threat meant to strike fear in his new victim.

Shades never got the chance to add bite to his bark, because no sooner did he take another step did the car door burst open.

Thrown out so hard it almost snapped off its hinges, the door slammed into Shade's back. The man was launched forward, crying out in surprise.

This time Alex was ready. He had seen movement within the car and, although he was still having trouble breathing, mentally prepared himself for the second Shades was caught off guard.

The man fell forward. At the same time, Alex rolled on his back, putting weight on his arms and shoulders as he lifted up his legs and kicking the thug back.

Rendered completely unbalanced, Shades was thrown back into the still open door. He dropped to the side on his hands and knees, pawing the ground in frustration.

By that time, Alex had returned to his feet, coughing a little as he sucked air back into lungs. He was about to deliver another kick to Shades, but his attention turned to Sam as she stuck her head out.

She was about to say something, but Alex pushed against the door, forcing her back. "No, stay inside!"

Sam had to scramble back to avoid getting her fingers trapped in the door - banging her head against the frame as she retreated. She threw Alex a reproachful look before disappearing behind black glass.

Alex didn't even consider whether he had hurt her or not when he saw Shades rise again in the reflection of the window. He pulled out of the way when Shades threw his punch.

_Crack!_

Brass knuckle smashed against glass. Incredibly, the window held. The wonders of German engineering.

Alex spun around in his dodge, intending to confront Shades but only opening himself up to the thug's feint.

 _Thwak!_ Skin and metal smacked into Alex's cheek, over the wounds created earlier that night.

The compounded pain - he could almost _hear_ the cut reopening - made for a few terrifying moments where Alex couldn't see anything.

Shades took the opportunity to land two more blows, one on his sternum, the other in his side - before Alex blinked and the world slide back into place, a blurry mess.

He saw Shades' third punch coming - aimed for his jaw - and ducked at the last second. The spike-edged fingers flew past Alex's ear as he threw himself forward. His shoulder connected with Shade's torso. He put all his weight into it, using his arms as extra power to further push the thug away from him.

"Unf!" Shades gasped, curled inward, fell backwards. He hit the pump behind him, head snapping back and shattering the glass protecting the price meter. Alex remained upright, his footing sure and stable.

Alex tasted blood in his mouth. He felt it trickling down his face, yet the pain wasn't nearly as bad as it should have been. His head hurt but his thoughts were clear, reflexes on point. It felt so natural, so _familiar_ , that he wasn't even that afraid. Somehow, this realization should have been horrible, because it was the last thing Alex wanted - after trying so hard to escape his old life, he didn't want to learn that he was still used to it, that he was still ready to go back to it if he had to.

But now it seemed as though he didn't have a choice. Not when his life was on the line.

Shades tried to get back up, but his flailing arm got caught in the pump tubing. A hasty, foolish jerk and Shades accidentally yanked the nozzle from its holster and the hunk of metal dropped on his head.

 _Thunk!_ Shades' shades fell off his face, and Alex got to see the man's eyes roll to the back of his head as he slumped over, rendered unconscious. Another down.

Seeing an opportunity, Alex grabbed the fallen nozzle and used the tubing to tie up the thugs. They provided little resistance, still unconscious and Alex was careful in restraining their arms before taking a step back and admiring his work.

What was he going to do with them?

"Holy shit!"

The sudden shout had Alex spinning around. Standing less than thirty feet away was the night clerk, a college-aged fellow with a patchy orange beard and bags under his eyes. He stared at the blond boy and the two beat-up thugs at his feet.

Even if the clerk hadn't seen everything, it didn't take a genius to put two and two together. Mouth agape, the gangly clerk pointed a shakey finger at Alex, saying, "What the hell are you? Karate Kid? Y-you just..."

Alex, first thinking this bloke to be just another annoyance, realized that his appearance was actually a good thing. "Do you have a phone? I need to call -"

_Bang!_

The clerk shrieked and threw his hands up as the light overhead exploded in a series of sparks. The darkness was sudden, but it took Alex only a split-second to locate the cause of the destruction: the third man, who had just exited the store behind the clerk, with gun in the air and a grimace on his face.

Taking one look at him, the clerk uttered another yelp before he took off running. There was nothing Alex could do before the guy had disappeared around the corner, wailing.

The thug leveled the gun at Alex, a sneer marking his face. Alex, frustration sending bile to his tongue, could only raise his hands in surrender. He cursed his own stupidity, for forgetting about the third man. Now he was completely defenseless and this thug didn't look particularly merciful.

"Alex Rider," the thug said, sounding out the name with a heavy accent. The words sounded stilted, like they were rehearsed and the thug did not quite know what he was saying in a foreign language. "It has been an honor."

"Sorry, have we met before?" Alex replied in a light tone. Despite the situation, he smirked a little. He knew having a smart mouth wouldn't do him any good, but Alex couldn't help himself. "I don't think I've ever seen a mug as ugly as yours, mate."

Besides, he doubts the thug could actually understand him anyways.

That may be so, but the thug could still gather that he had just been insulted - he scowled and Alex realized that what he had mistaken for an ugly look was actually a nasty scar that stretched down the thug's face. It warped his lips and eyes brow, rendering them in a permanent look of disgruntlement.

_Bang!_

The bullet ricocheted off the hood of the car. Alex flinched, jumping away. He shouted, "What are you, crazy? You're going to blow us all to hell!"

Alex couldn't remember the last time he ever dealt with someone stupid enough to fire a gun out a gas station. It didn't give him much confidence - the thug was more likely to get them both killed on accident and turn the whole thing into a farce; instead of earning whatever fame for taking a despised Triad enemy.

Of course, the thug didn't seem to understand the danger he was getting in, instead deciding to draw nearer. Alex tried to back away, but a warning flick of the thug's wrist said another move would mean a quick death or a blown kneecap.

So Alex remained still as the thug got closer, coming to a stop with the barrel of the gun only inches from Alex's face. The thug squinted at the boy, chewing on a toothpick that Alex hadn't noticed until now. There was a stretched of silence where nothing happened. Alex was too wary to try anything, but he couldn't help but wonder: what was this guy waiting for?

Then the scarred thug spoke, only one word. "Beg."

Alex blinked but didn't move, didn't say a word. He didn't care if these were his last moments on Earth, he wasn't going to give the Triad the satisfaction of dying on his knees.

A muscle twitched in the thug's face, making his whole scar ripple in a strange, psychedelic effect. He snarled louder, "Beg!"

He rammed the gun against Alex's forehead with enough force that the boy had to take a half-step to maintain balance. But he kept his lips closed, grit his teeth and looked the thug directly in the eye. And spit in his face.

The thug recoiled, disgusted, and for a blissful milliseconds the gun disappeared, pulled away as the thug wiped at his face.

Alex did not make this move on the idea that it would improve the situation. He wondered, in that split-second when the thug was distracted, if he should try grabbing the gun - but that would likely just lead to a tussle, and with the muzzle still pointed in Alex's general direction, he would no doubt be the only one to get hurt.

The thug recovered, swung the gun back, switching his grip and holding the barrel, and pistol-whipped Alex across the jaw.

Caught by surprise, Alex fell, ears ringing, teeth rattled, and stars of pain flashing in front of his eyes. His hands braced his fall, but his palms were scrapped sliding against the rough Tarmac. Suddenly they were warm and wet with blood - the cuts from breaking the case hadn't even started healing yet, and the fall had ripped the bandages off.

But he couldn't think about that right now. When he looked up again, Alex was not surprised to find the gun trained on him again. The thug was grinning victoriously - he finally got what he wanted with Alex now on the ground.

Alex wished he hadn't been so cocky, be he supposed there was no helping that now. He glared up at the thug, wiping his bleeding lip in what might be his last act of defiance. Go out with a bang, as it were.

The thug sneered. His arm flexed. Alex continued to glare - he would not die looking down the barrel of a gun.

_Shwing!_

A flash of light. The thug cried out, startling Alex. He dropped the gun and clutched his arm, now covered in blood. Alex stared at the knife sticking out of the thug's wrist.

The thug turned in the direction of where the knife came from, eyes wide and panting heavily. But he was completely unprepared when A form jumped out of the darkness, wielding a weapon of their own.

There was a wet, soapy _smack_ sound as the end of a squeegee made contact with the thug's face. It didn't take long to figure out who had attacked him.

Alex looked up at Sam, surprised by her sudden appearance. How long had she been outside? He couldn't remember seeing or hearing her leave the car. Then again, he had been preoccupied. Still, hadn't anyone else seen her? Surely the last thug couldn't have, could he? Unbelievable.

At first, he was speechless.

Then he wasn't. "I told you to stay in the car!"

"You're welcome!" She shot back, possibly the first sarcastic response he ever heard from her. Then again, it was just as likely she meant it, so Alex decided to hold his judgement until later.

The thug didn't have a chance to recover before Sam delivered another blow to his gut, then to his chin as he bent down. She hooked the end of the squeegee around the thug's elbow and whipped him around so hard that the knife fell out of his arm. Before he could take advantage of that, Sam grabbed the shoulders of his coat and yanked down.

In one smooth motion she had the jacket sleeves tied with the thug's arms trapped inside like an improvised straight jacket.

Sam finished it off with a swift kick to the thug's rear. Without arms to balance himself, he was thrust forward and fell flat on his face.

Threat neutralized, Alex shot to his feet, slightly dizzy but no less energized. Adrenalin was still coursing through his system and Alex intended to make good use of it.

Sam picked up her fallen knife. Alex wondered offhand where she even got it from, since it wasn't Red Bandana's and definitely wasn't his own. She faced him, did a double take at what had to be his rough appearance, and asked, "Are you okay? You're bleeding -"

"I'm fine," Alex stalked past her, knocking her aside with his shoulder.

He stood over the scarred thug, the one Alex figured to be the ringleader of this little posse. With his foot, Alex flipped the thug over so he was facing upwards. "Who sent you?"

The thug, still conscious, blinked silently at the boy. He didn't speak, his expression showing nothing but hatred and pain and rage. It seemed to be revenge for Alex's refusal to beg earlier.

Alex did not have the patience for this petty behavior. Not even giving the thug a second chance, he kicked him in the side, as hard as he could. "Tell me! Who do you work for?"

The thug winced and grunted at that blow, but remained stoic.

Instead, it was Sam who spoke, "Alex -"

"Shut up." he didn't even glance at her, too annoyed to bother. Still focusing on the thug, he asked, "Are you Triad? Are you the same people that attacked my house?"

As he expected, the thug didn't say anything. It wasn't the answer Alex was hoping for and now he was getting frustrated. After all the stress, the fear and the pain, the boy was at the end of his rope. He didn't get this far to receive no answers.

A combination of all these factors, including exhaustion and anger, led to a moment where all Alex could do was stomp and kick the thug, repeating his questions before forgetting why he had to.

Alex could consider himself an expert on torture, he's a been on the receiving end so many times. But implementing it was a whole different game. Alex had no skill, no tactics - just anger and desperation. Really, he just needed an outlet to vent all those pent up emotions. The thug just happened to be a convenient, guilt-free target.

At some point, Alex was on one knee, punching the thug because it felt better, although he couldn't remember when that happened or how long he had been doing it. His hands were bloody, both his own and the man's beneath him. Despite the fact that he was doing even. Ore damage to his already injured hands, Alex didn't stop. It felt too good.

It was Sam who brought him out of his fugue state. She had grabbed his wrist when he raised his arm for another punch, stopping him from bringing it down again.

Alex jerked his head around, glaring at the girl as he unsuccessfully tried to wrestle his arm out of her grip. "Ugh, let go!"

"Not until you stop," she said, meeting his eyes without a flinch.

"Until I stop?" That was the funniest thing he heard all night. Alex turned on her, getting to his feet in an attempt at intimidation only to discover that Sam was actually an inch or two taller than him. It flustered him a bit, but Alex was too angry to let it stop him for more than a half second. " _They're_ the ones hunting me down! They're the ones trying to kill me! If anyone should be stopping, it's them."

It occurred to Alex that perhaps he wasn't trying hard enough to get the thug to talk. Looking at Sam, he remembered what she had and held out his other hand, demanding, "Give me your knife."

First, Sam blinked in confusion. Then her eyes widened when she understood what he wanted to do. Apparently she disagreed, because she only said, "No."

"Where is it?" Alex almost didn't even hear her answer, or he did and didn't care. He checked her free hand, noticing it was empty. It curled into a fist and she tucked it behind her back. Frustrated and perhaps starting to lose control (something he wouldn't admit until much, much later, Alex grabbed her shoulder and shook her. "Sam! Give it to me!"

"Let go of me." Despite the fact that Alex was yelling in her face, Sam's voice remained level and expression neutral, although uncomfortable. Somehow, she wasn't registering Alex's show of anger and he wondered what he'd have to do to make her understand. But at that point he had used up his allotted time to back off, and when he didn't, Sam reacted accordingly.

Releasing his wrist, Sam brought her arm up and slammed her elbow in his offending arm. The pain was sudden and sharp, enough to shock Alex into unlocking his fingers and allowing Sam to shove him away from her.

Alex stumbled back but regained his footing quickly. He clenched his fists, so ticked that Sam tried to hurt him that he didn't even consider that she might have been acting in self-defense or had been holding back to prevent lasting damage. Instead, he shouted, "What's your problem? Can't you see I need him to talk? The only way I can do that is with your knife! It won't work otherwise!"

"No," Sam said again, her voice still infuriatingly calm. But her expression had hardened, and something about it said that she, too, had lost patience with him. "It's not working because you're not asking the right questions."

"What?" Her reply was so out of left field that Alex didn't even know how to react. Was this just another one of her stupid, nonsensical musings? He was asking _exactly_ the right questions!

Before he could call her out on it though, Sam approached the thug, who had been watching their fight with silent glee. She looked down at him, her expression unchanging even though she was looking at a would-be murderer. Then she spoke in Chinese.

The thug squinted at her, his face scrunching up in distaste, perhaps over her accent. Alex didn't think it could possibly work. Maybe Sam was wrong - it wasn't like she had actually heard them talk to know, maybe she got the language wrong. And after just getting beat up, why would the thug give them what they wanted?

(Possibly to avoid more injuries, but still).

Then, incredibly, the thug spoke back.

Alex stared, looking between the two of them, unable to believe his ears. Then it hit him. _Of course._ He knew this already - on the bus, Sam had told them she understood the argument of the two Asian men; it wouldn't be that big of a leap to assume she could also speak the language. Perhaps he should have been regretful for his behavior, but Alex was far more concerned with other things at the moment. "What was that? What did you ask? What did he just say?"

"He said," Sam said, leaning back a little and looking at Alex. He swore there was a shadow of a smirk on her face, but it was too dark to tell. "That they were sent to follow you."

"What? Why? By who?"

Sam looked back at the thug and relayed the question in his native tongue. It took a second for the thug to reply. It took Alex making a threatening step forward for the man to speak. It was a long answer, so Alex hoped for good information. He wasn't disappointed.

"They heard that the first attempt failed and were called to clean up the mess. You made it easy by leaving the house on your own. I was an unexpected setback."

"But _who_? Who called them?"

Sam translated. The thug's answer was short.

"He doesn't know."

"What do you mean? He has to know! He can't just be taking random orders! How did he get the call?"

It took Sam a moment to make Alex's demands understandable in Chinese. He had to wait longer for the thug to explain.

"They have a special cell phone that they receive calls on. Always a blocked number. You're not supposed to call back."

"Why not?"

"Or they kill you."

"Oh," well, that was a valid reason. Alex huffed, crossing his arms and scowling at his feet. This breakthrough was a relief, but it wouldn't mean much if the thug didn't know anything himself. "Does he know who I am? He said my name, a message, something in English. Why?"

The thug shrugged when Sam asked. She explained, "It was part of the order to go after you. If they had a chance to kill you, they should take it. They wanted you to know who killed you before you died. It's a sign of respect."

"Respect?" Alex's laugh was cold, humorless. "Give me a break."

Then the thug spoke of his own volition. While speaking to Sam, the man watched Alex, and there was an odd glimmer in his eyes. It left an unsettling feeling in Alex's stomach.

He was not set at ease when Sam clarified. "H-he said that because you refused that end twice, you don't deserve it anymore. The Bearded Dragon is coming for you, and he won't stop until you can't take anymore. And when you finally give up and surrender, he won't kill you. He'll beat you, starve you, cut out your tongue-" Sam's voice caught in her throat and Alex assumed the details here got too gory for her to translate. Or _want to_ translate. "...a-and other things. And when there's nothing left of you, when you've forgotten your own name and your own face, when there's nothing worth remembering anymore..."

She took a deep breath. She let it out. " _Then_ , then he'll kill you."

There was a heavy stretch of silence. Alex stared at the ground. He felt hollow. Empty. Just seconds ago he was furious, excited, ready for another fight. But all that had left him, fluttering away like a tower of cards in the wind.

He could feel Sam looking at him. He couldn't imagine what was going through that crazy head of hers. He knew the thug was, perhaps relishing the moment where the boy realized that the Triad was a tireless beast who would not stop hunting until its prey finally collapsed at its own feet. There was no escaping his fate.

But Alex had to try.

"W-where are you going?" Sam asked, watching in bewilderment as Alex started walking away.

His trainers crunched over broken glass. He pulled the door open."Get in the car."

"But -"

Alex slammed it shut, cutting her off. He grabbed the keys, wrenched them, started the engine. It roared to life and Sam scrambled for the passenger side. The car was already on the move as she threw herself on the seat, managing to pull her feet out of the way before the door closed.

Alex didn't wait for her to put on her seatbelt before he changed gears and tore out of the gas station. The car bucked as he rolled over the curb before squealing out onto the streets and into the night.


	14. Sarah vs. the Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EDIT 3/15/15 - So I'm rehauling the plot starting from this point onwards. I changed some things in the last few chapters, but otherwise whatever happened in the previous 12-18 chapters never happened. 
> 
> I realized maybe I should have put Sarah's POV after chapter twelve, because I totally forgot to add the stinking villain I created for this whole story that was mentioned in this chapter but also supposed to be in the last one gdi
> 
> So, yeah, more editing. Jeez, I just want to get to the next chapter already!

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Sarah vs. the Mistake**

When Sarah walked out of the Roosevelt hotel that afternoon, she expected to see Sam to be waiting for her at the café.

Sarah should have known better.

"Where is she?" the agent asked, looking around. Did Sam go to the bathroom? Sarah hadn't been gone for that long.

The first warning sign was the shopping bags laying by the table, yet no teenager in sight. Maybe Sarah could have anticipated Sam looking around, but how far could she have gone? She hoped the girl would have had the sense to remain nearby, but the longer Sarah looked around, the more worried she got. Not only was Sam missing, but so was her backpack. The girl didn't seem to go anywhere without it, so there was a possibility that she might have left of her own volition – instead of a kidnapping, which was what Sarah had first assumed. Always expect for the worst, as they say.

"Where is who?" Chuck, who had followed her out the building, frowned at Sarah before the horror dawned on him. "You mean Sam? You lost Sam?!"

He went into his typical panic mode, with hands flying to his head, pulling at the greased back hair and turning it back to the curly muss it usually was. Chuck was already in the middle of blabbering his worst conclusions before Sarah could even get a chance to reassure him everything was going to be all right, something that she herself wasn't entirely sure of.

"Oh, my god, Aunt Clary is going to kill me," the man was hyperventilating, wringing his hands in hysterics. "Sam could be anywhere right now, she could have been kidnapped, she could have been hit by a car, maybe she's dying in alleyway somewhere..."

For a brief second, Sarah just stared at this tall, gangly nerd, wondering how she ever got worried about the fact that he could really be a spy – a clever, dangerous spy capable of things the old Chuck shouldn't have been able to. But now that he was brought back to the present, with the threat of family on the forefront, Sarah realized that Chuck was still just a scared little boy in the world of espionage.

She placed a hand on Chuck's shoulder, squeezing hard enough for him to shut up and notice her. "Chuck, calm down. We both know that if worse comes to worse, Sam can survive on her own. That's what her mother made sure of, above all else. Now, we're just going to go back to Castle and explain everything to Beckman. She'll know how to bring Sam back."

Chuck was shaking all over, but he seemed to relax just a little, nodding to her words and saying, "Y-yeah, okay. Let's go to Beckman. Maybe she'll have this fancy gadget for us to use that locates missing people. It won't be that hard. How far could Sam have gotten?"

Sarah was glad her words worked on Chuck, because it was just an act, her showing a brave face at the confrontation of authority. Inside, she was just as worried as Chuck, but it was her job as a spy and his handler to be the one to keep the cool head and keep the team working even when emotions were running high.

Still, she was glad to have time to think for herself, driving her car alone.

 _Great, just great._ Not only was she held at gunpoint by a vengeful assassin, of whose identity was stolen by Chuck, Sarah was left vulnerable to the fact that both Chuck and Shaw had feelings for her and were willing to kill (each other) for it; she should've known better than to tell Shaw such sensitive information during a live op; but _now_ her other mission was compromised, teenager off the grid and completely unsupervised.

Beckman was not going to be happy about this.

At least the real Rafe Gruber was dead now. Casey could put another notch in his belt for that one.

She headed back to Castle with the bags, by herself in her car. Throughout the drive she tried to come up with some sort of explanation, some sort of way to make the fact that there was a missing teenager affiliated with the CIA on the loose sound not so bad – but even if Sam was just a regular teenager from Springfield, Oklahoma Beckman would still be pissed.

Sarah ran a hand through her hair, bun knocked loose from the fight with Rafe. She let out a groan, allowing herself to vent her frustration in private. She had no choice but to accept the responsibility of her failure. Maybe she could lessen it by offering to locate Sam and bring her back.

Of course, that fear returned all too soon when Sarah found herself standing in front of the TV screen, watching as General Beckman's face turned dark when Sarah recounted her experience. It probably wouldn't have been so bad if her team wasn't all there to hear it – Chuck had his head in his hands, not saying anything; Casey had his big, beefy arms crossed and a look on his hard face that said he wasn't surprised by any of this; Shaw remained as composed as ever, although Sarah knew he was judging her for this moment. What was he really thinking?

Sarah wondered if it had been such a good idea to tell Shaw her real name – she had been caught up in the moment, a sudden rush of emotion that elicited a dangerous response. Not that she didn't trust Shaw, no, she trusted her entire team, but spies had secret identities for a reason. She doubted that John Casey was the man's real name. The only man who went by his real name was Chuck Bartowski, a rare luxury that almost cost them a mission or two. So, no, revealing her real identity, even if it was just the first name, was far too risky. But she couldn't help herself. She felt like Shaw deserved that information. She trusted him.

More than she trusted Chuck.

When Sarah finished with her debriefing, she waited for a long minute for Beckman to respond. The woman had an indiscernible look on her face, like a woman deciding whether or not to put someone on the electric chair or give them lethal injection. Finally, the woman folded her hands over one another and said, "Well, that is certainly a predicament, Agent Walker, but unfortunately we'll have to put it on the backburner for the time being."

"Ma'am?" Sarah asked after a moment of awkward silence, wondering if she had heard Beckman right.

" _What_?" Chuck said at the same time, his head shooting up. Clearly, he didn't believe it either. "So you're just... _not_ going to do anything?"

" _No_ , Mr. Bartowski, that is not what I said," General Beckman scowled, her brow pulling down over her eyes. For such a small lady, that woman had her bitch face down pat. " _You_ will not be doing anything about this – I will find another team, one that has expertise in runaways, to find our missing ward and bring her back. Rest assured, Samantha will return home soon. Team Bartowski has other priorities to tend to in the meantime."

There seemed to be a collective sigh of released tension. Chuck looked especially relieved; if Beckman had no solution to the Sam problem, Sarah was sure that Chuck would do something about it himself. The man had a way for improvising.

"So what now, General?" Special Agent Shaw stepped up to the forefront, taking the initiative now that the previous matter was dealt with. "The assassin Rafe Gruber is dead, as are the clients that hired him. The mission was a success. What is our next course of action?"

"We have a new problem with the Triad." Beckman replied, picking up a stack of papers on her desk, tapping them together to straighten them before reaching out to press a button. Images appeared on nearby screens, showing pictures of gang activity – men carrying large crates to and from trucks; goons in red bandanas and semi-automatics patrolling the perimeter of a warehouse; dealers on street corners discreetly exchanging money and drugs with clients. "They've been on the rise since last March and they seem to be determined to take over the underground crime world. Until recently, they weren't much of a problem. But I've just received reports from San Francisco of a sudden spike in Triad activities. I fear that they might be after something, but what that is I don't know. I need your team to find out; be wary, though, this rise in activity means that they're extremely hostile, and aren't afraid of making things public if they have to. Avoid collateral damage at all costs. To do this, I recommend _acquiring_ one of their low-level members and finding out what he knows."

Casey took particular interest with the images of the Triad wielding guns. He seemed to be evaluating how much of a challenge they would be in a firefight. He sneered, apparently not impressed. "How do you want 'em, ma'am? Well done or rare?"

"Preferably in one piece, Colonel Casey," Beckman cast a disapproving look at the man. It was a common problem trying to keep their targets breathing once Casey decided they no longer deserved to live. "I don't want missing limbs or massive blood loss. When we finally have them in our custody, I want them compliant, not in a coma."

"Is there anyone we should look out for?" Sarah asked, pushing ahead before Beckman could think of more ways the team could screw this mission up. She didn't want more reminders of her recent failures. "Drug lord, assassin, hired gun who might get in our way?"

"As a matter of fact, there is," Beckman nodded. Her gaze flicked to Chuck, "Does the alias the Bearded Dragon mean anything to you?"

Right on cue, everyone turned to Chuck, expecting him to Flash. The man stiffened, apparently expecting to as well, but there was a long pause where nothing happened. No crossing of the eyes, no sudden intake of breath or following spew of words. Chuck looked up at Sarah and gave a helpless shrug of the shoulders. "I-I guess the Intersect doesn't have anything on the guy."

"Once again, your inability to perform is causing a liability to the team," Shaw muttered. Sarah couldn't figure out if he was talking to himself or directing it to Chuck. Either way, he heard it and threw Shaw a frustrated look.

"Unusual," Beckman said, ignoring Shaw's comment. "But fine. I will tell you what the CIA knows about the Bearded Dragon – he's one of the Triad's most efficient and terrifying assassins, he specializes in stealth and small knives. His real name is Xun Long and kills his targets by slitting their throats or stabbing them in the back, and always leaves a calling card behind."

"Huh." Casey sniffed, crossing his arms. "Classy. I like it."

"I suspect you want us to find the Bearded Dragon and take him down," Shaw said, taking a step forward and placing his hands behind his back. In any other case, an agent assuming the goals of a mission would look foolish and overconfident. But Shaw delivered it in a way that made him sound professional and to the point, his gaze level and face entirely expressionless. Sarah had to admit, this was not a skill most agents were good at, and much less dare attempt trying. "We can further the sabotage by assuming his identity and getting deeper within the ranks of the Triad."

"Correct," Beckman said with a sharp nod. Shaw was never one to disappoint. "I expect nothing less than excellence from my best team. I'm sending you on the next flight to San Francisco. Good luck."

General Beckmann raised a finger to end the connection, but Chuck jumped up at the last moment, saying, "Wait, don't go yet!"

Behind them, Casey made a sound of annoyance, coughing into his fist and glaring invisible bullets at the skinny man. If anyone was going to step out of line and demand an order from his superior, it was going to be Chuck. Heaven knows, he had enough citations already. Sarah covered her face, hiding her own embarrassment.

But the General just heaved a sigh, looking as though she were restraining the urge to eye rolling. Sarah was impressed that the woman didn't court martial Chuck on the spot. "What is it, Bartowski?"

"I just, uh..." Chuck twiddled his thumbs, perhaps grasping the fact that he was walking on thin ice with the general and his team, who were throwing a collective frown at him. "Would it be too much to ask who you're sending to find Sam?"

He winced, as if making a preemptive move in case Beckman snapped at him. He looked up in surprise when the woman answered in a much more measured tone than her typical annoyed manner.

"Fair enough, I suppose," General Beckman sounded more beleaguered than anything else. "I will be assigning Agent Byrne to the task of finding our lost ward. He's dealt with cases like these before and has yet to disappoint. I can assure you that he will bring Sam back."

Chuck's shoulders slumped in relief. "Thanks, General."

"Will that be all?" General Beckman's eyes turned steely, as if daring anyone else to waste her time with further questions. "Good. I will be waiting for a debriefing once this mission is over."

And with that, her screen went dark.

Everyone moved at once, clothes rustling and bones creaking from standing in one place for so long. They had their jobs to do, and now was the time to spend preparing for their new mission. Casey made a bee-line for the weapon racks, to clean and sharpen everything that might be used. Shaw went straight for strategizing, setting up shop in the War Room with its large table and interactive screens, where the Special Agent could coordinate different plans and tactics. Sarah suspected this room to be Shaw's favorite, as the man spent most of his time in there, deliberating upon thousands of ideas and situations. The man liked to be prepared for anything and everything.

Sarah got busy at one of the computers, to collect as much data on the Triads as she could from both the CIA and NSA databases. Even though they both protected the same country, the two groups had difficulty working together, so trying to make ends meet was quite a task. It was the reason the Intersect was created – to share and put all their data in one place, to prevent further terrorist attacks and infiltrate groups whose interests opposed that of America's.

It was a pretty good plan. Well, if the Intersect hadn't been downloaded into the brain of a Nerd Herder.

Sarah had to admit, Team Bartowski had a lot of problems starting out. Chuck didn't know the first thing about being a spy, besides what the movies told him. He could barely act, his bluffing was atrocious, and he'd be dead a thousand times over if Sarah and Casey weren't there to save his ass every time he obliviously walked right into the middle of an exchange between corrupt agents and European smugglers.

But they made it work. Somehow, Team Bartowski was a success, despite everything going against it. A CIA agent and NSA agent working together was tough but doable (Casey didn't like it any more than Sarah did at the time), but with an innocent civilian also on the take? Most commanding officers would know better than to try. But Beckman gave them a chance; instead of locking Chuck in a padded white room, she allowed him to continue living with his family, his normal life, while at the same time hiding his extracurricular activities. It didn't make life easy – having to explain all the late arrivals, the missed shifts, the weird bruises and ashen faces that came with running away from explosions and gunfire – it was certainly an exercise in imagination.

But at least Sarah didn't have to pretend to be his girlfriend anymore. She didn't like dealing with unnecessary emotions. Whether or not this new arrangement was helpful or hurtful, was another matter entirely.

Chuck couldn't stay for very long. He had a date with Hannah (who Sarah still thought was a problem) and her parents, which Sarah supposed was a big deal. She wouldn't know, she certainly didn't want anyone to meet her father or mother, no matter the romantic situation – the last instance of Dad being in town involved conning an oil sheik and stealing a refurbished DeLorean, and nearly ended in disaster.

Yet Sarah couldn't help but notice how glum Chuck looked as he made his way up the stairs towards the Orange-Orange shop above. Sensing something wrong, Sarah got up from her seat and followed him.

He had just stepped onto the street when Sarah reached the ground floor, calling, "Chuck, wait!"

The man turned around, frowning. He sighed, "Look, Sarah, I know you don't like Hannah, but can you please not –?"

"No, it's not that," Sarah waved the thought away, coming to a stop beside him. The sky was dark out, the streetlights had flickered on. A cool wind brushed her hair into her face and she tuck it behind her ear. "You just seemed upset. If Shaw said something..."

She let the sentence hang, hoping Chuck would explain himself on his own terms. He just shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment. "No, it's not Shaw, although would it hurt for the guy to, you know, relax for a second or two? I mean, it's not like the Intersect is _perfect_ , I can't control what it does, I'm not –"

Sarah had to hold up her hand to get the man to stop. "Chuck, you're rambling again. Can you just tell me what's wrong?"

"Oh, sorry," Chuck gave her an apologetic smile, rubbing the back of his head. For a moment, Sarah forgot that she was angry at him, that she and him were officially over. Right then, she felt like they were friends again, that he hadn't heard the private conversation between her and Shaw. Was he still upset about that? "It's just after everything...I'm a little tired of it all. I don't think I like what all this is turning me into."

Sarah widened her eyes, surprised. She almost said, "Me, too," but caught herself at the last moment. Had Chuck noticed the way his spying made him? How it utterly changed him into a completely different person, someone ruthless, cold-hearted, and calculating – someone entirely _not_ Chuck?

Someone more like...Shaw?

The thought sent a shudder through her. As much as Sarah respected Shaw, Chuck didn't deserve to be turned into that type of person.

But she couldn't deny how well it did for the team. So Sarah told Chuck what Beckman and Shaw and Casey expected her to say in this situation: "Well, you're an agent now. That's what agents do, and it worked. Mission accomplished."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Chuck just shrugged, running a hand through his curly mop. He still seemed indecisive on the matter. "Well, I gotta go. See you tomorrow."

"Drive safe," Sarah said, resting a hand on his shoulder in farewell. He tensed under contact and their eyes met.

There felt like a bolt of electricity traveled between them, making the hair on Sarah's arm stand on end. For a second, they stood there, frozen and staring at each other, possibly wondering what the other was thinking at that moment.

It took Sarah a moment to realize that her gesture had lasted a few seconds too long and she jerked back, withdrawing her hand. They broke eye contact and Sarah turned immediately before she could lose face – before Chuck saw something she didn't want him to see. Without another word, she ducked back inside the store, trying to hide her flushing cheeks.

Sarah didn't look back until she walked around the cash register. A part of her was hoping Chuck might still be there, but her heart fell when she saw only an empty sidewalk. She could hear the engine of a Nerd Herder being started and driving away.

The woman sighed and leaned against the doorframe that led to Castle downstairs. God, what was she going to do with herself?

A sudden voice broke Sarah from her thoughts. "Hey, I made some coffee, want some?"

"Hm?" Sarah looked up, surprised to see Shaw standing there at the top of the stairs with a thumb hooked over his shoulder. For a moment, Sarah felt apprehensive – did he see the moment she and Chuck just had? She hoped not. She just wanted to forget it ever happened. Trying not to blink too much, she said, "What did you say?"

"It's going to be a long night," He threw her one of those perfect little smiles that had her relieved for a way out of her tangled thoughts. "Just thought you'd like to stay awake."

"Yeah, sure, coffee sounds great." Sarah replied, following him downstairs. Once more, she wondered if she made a mistake telling him her real name.


	15. Sam vs. Motel California

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, new material! The plot is actually moving along now.

**Chapter Fifteen**

**Sam vs. Motel California**

"Where are we going?" Sam asked about two hours later. At that point it had become clear that Alex was not driving in any particular direction. On highways, off them, doing several double backs and random stops on the side of the road. He was trying to throw off or reveal any tails that may have been following them.

So far, nothing suspicious came of it. If they had any tails, they were long gone. They remained on the interstate, taking the fast route south.

"I told you, Los Angeles," came his short reply.

He had said absolutely not one word during the entirety of the trip thus far. Sam had made a few comments before, half-hearted attempts to fill the quiet space, but Alex had none of it. This time, though she felt her question warranted an answer, and was glad she got one. It wasn't as helpful as she expected, though.

Not quite understanding that Alex did not want to talk, Sam pressed, "How long until we get there?"

"Not for a while."

"It's going to be sunrise soon," Sam said, glancing at the glowing green clock numbers. She didn't need them to know that it was after four in the morning. "Aren't you tired?"

Alex heaved a sigh, low and growling. He was leaning his head against propped arm, driving the wheel with one hand. "Yes."

"Maybe we should stop -"

Suddenly, he yanked the wheel to the right and the car screeched onto the offrail from the highway. Sam grabbed the edge of her chair, voice caught in her throat as she was thrown backwards into her seat. He hit the brakes hard and she slams forward, the seatbelt the only thing keeping her from colliding with the windshield. The strap digs into her neck and hips and Sam chokes as she falls back in her spot.

She was so surprised that she couldn't say anything. Sam was afraid that Alex might react badly - his driving skills were diminishing rapidly, and she feared any interference may cause an accident.

They drive down a dark road for a roughly under ten minutes. It's nothing but desert here, rocky sand, scraggly bushes, some cacti, and old, withered husks of trees. Once or twice she saw a car stranded off the road, all hollowed out like metal phantoms, popping out in grotesque shadows when the headlights pass by.

There's a light in the distance. Sam believed it to be a town, and when they finally reached it she realized that 'town' was a rather generous way to describe it. There were barely ten buildings in total, and half of them were family homes. Two were stores, one a gas station and diner, completed with one motel with no cars in its parking lot.

Actually, it couldn't even be called a parking lot, because there were no lines. There were no lines because the ground was just dirt, and when Alex pulled in he ran over a cactus. Without comment he shifted into park and turned off the engine in complete motion, was out of the vehicle in the next.

Sam grabbed her bag before following. On one end of the building is a tiny lobby, with one desk and two waiting chairs. A single orange light bulb illuminates the inside, the dozing clerk resting his head against the wall. Alex was in the process of prodding him awake when Sam walked inside. She can't help but note that the clock is stuck ticking on the same second and calendar is from the year 1978. She wondered if she should mention it. It seems to be the age of just about everything in this room.

Alex gave up trying to poke the man awake, and ended up just slamming his palm on countertop. The clerk jumped, snorting and looking around blearily, peering at the two teens like they might've been hallucinations. He wiped his nose and asked in a thick voice, "Uh, um, how can I help you?"

"Two rooms, please."

The man casts his glance between the two of them, perhaps making incorrect conclusions and still not understanding what was going on. He frowned and opened his book, looking about ten years old but just starting a few pages in. "Uh, sure. You know it'd be cheaper if you just rent one room."

A muscle in Alex's jaw twitched. It takes him a second to say, in a strained voice, "Fine. How much is it?"

"Thirty. Cash only."

"Thirty?" Alex balks, reaching into his pocket to retrieve his wallet. He glanced inside and scowls. "How is that cheaper? I only have twenty-five."

"It's thirty. That's the rate."

"Seriously? It's only five dollars. You have no other guests. We're probably the only business you've had in weeks."

"Sorry, kid. No money, no room."

Alex opened his mouth to further the argument, but before he can say anything there's another bang on the counter and two twenty dollar bills appeared. Alex does a double take, looks over his shoulder at Sam. She kept her eyes on the clerk, who seems to shrink a little when her gaze remains on him for over unblinking five seconds.

"I would like change back, please." She said, forgetting to smile.

"Uh, uh-huh, sure, yeah, I can do that," the clerk nodded, almost frantically as he reached for the cash register and pulled out five wrinkly ones, then handed them to her. He took the pen from behind his ear, looks up at them, "Uh, what should I put you under?"

Alex didn't say anything. Sam followed his example, knowing that their status as runaways meant telling the truth was not an option. Even if the Triad did manage to track them here, it would be stupid to give this guy their real names.

The silence stretched, and the clerk shifts nervously in his seat. It squeaks an obnoxiously loud and to cover it up, the man clears his throat and says, "Uh, how about I put you under Bonnie and Clyde, huh? Does that sound good?"

"Put whatever." Alex replied, voice flat. "Can we have the keys now?"

On one wall is a set of ten keys, each one on its own hook. The clerk picked one at random, number seven, and handed it over. "Yeah, here you go. Have a nice night... Er, morning."

Alex snatched the keys with such force that the man recoiled. The boy said nothing as he turned on his heel and walked out the door. Sam was slow to react, and was in the midst of opening the door after him before remembering the civility lessons Sarah taught her. Throwing a quick glance behind her, Sam said, "Thank you!" Before taking off.

The clerk just gawked silently as she disappeared into the early morning.

Alex was in the midst of wrestling with the lock on the door when Sam caught up with him. "Do you need help with that?"

"No," he muttered, but continued to fight with the knob while Sam watched. A whole twenty seconds passed before the boy hit the door with his fist, uttering a string of curses and throwing his arms up in the air. "Fine! You do it!"

Sam didn't know how to react to his behavior and just did what he said. The boy backed off, kicking at the dirt and muttering under his breath while Sam took the key and reinserted them in the lock. It's old and the thing sticks - Sam really had to punch it in so the key would fit, but a good wrenching on the knob released the lock and the door opened.

Alex just glowered and stalked inside. It was dark inside but he didn't bother to turn on the lights. Sam closes the door behind them and took a second to absorb their surroundings.

The motel looked about as good on the inside as it did on the outside, which is to say not at all. The wall paper was peeling in several places and there was a weird shag carpet covering the floor. Two queen beds with sagging mattresses are set up against one wall. There was no kitchenette or fridge, just a door that led to the bathroom.

Alex sat on one bed, the one furthest from the door, so Sam took the other. She set her bag on the bed, taking a moment to do inventory. Aside from the removal of two American twenties and the return of five one dollar bills, nothing had changed.

She decided to count the money, just in case. Alex seemed to have already fallen asleep, and while Sam was feeling the same exhaustion, she couldn't quite lay her head on the pillow just yet. A part of her mind was still wide awake, and to lull it into a state of rest Sam decided to do basic math.

She was half way through her Euros and had just uttered her first yawn when she heard a voice behind her. "Where did you get that money?"

"I had it." Came her simple reply. Sam made a note to herself to always assume Alex was awake unless proven otherwise.

"This whole time?" There was an odd ring in his tone. She heard a shift in springs as Alex rolled over. "How much do you have?"

Thankfully she had already finished counting, so she could give him an accurate answer. "Four hundred and sixty five dollars."

"Four hund-" the boy choked, then recovered. "We could've gotten two rooms!"

"Why?" Sam didn't think he was being rational. "It'd be a waste of money. There's one bed for the each of us. We can take turns using the bathroom."

"That's not the point," the boy huffed. Sam still hadn't turned around to look at him; she was too busy counting. "Why didn't you ever say anything?"

"You never asked. How would I know that that's important information to you?"

"Sam!" Alex exclaimed, and she finally twisted around to look at him. He'd picked himself up from the bed, giving her a disbelieving look. Not that she could understand why. "Money is _always_ important. To everyone!"

"Well," Sam frowned, not liking the generalization. It certainly didn't apply her mother, and the woman had raised Sam under the same belief. "Not to me. It's just paper my mother gave to me."

"Wait, that's your mum's?"

"Yes," Sam replied, looking back down and returning to her task.

"You said you two lived in the mountains, she had no job. Where would she get it?"

Sam paused, thinking about the question. She, too, had been wondering the same thing when she first checked the contents of this bag, but upon reflection it made sense. "She was probably saving it in case of an emergency. Like the hospital, or extra supplies. And she has a job. In Prague."

"Prague, as in the Czech Republic?"

"Unless there is another Prague, then yes."

"What does she do?"

"Her job."

"And that is _what,_ exactly?"

Sam was starting to get annoyed by all these questions. After the night they had, after receiving the silent treatment from Alex for over two hours and rough car ride, she was just about done. Tired and frustrated, Sam let pettiness get the better of her and decided not to give him a straight answer. "An exchange of goods and services for monetary payment. What does it matter specifically? It's the reason I'm here right now, in the middle of a desert, stuck with a strange-talking boy who is wanted dead by some bad guys, and no one will tell me why. I don't think the issue of my money is the most concerning aspect of our situation, to be honest."

Surprisingly, Alex didn't reply. Sam glanced over her shoulder and saw that his back was turned to her, head back on the pillow.

Sam considered furthering the conversation, in an attempt to get answers. But she decided against it. Through the curtains of the window, Sam could see the sky turning pink in the horizon. Neither of them had gotten any sleep within the last twenty four hours, and it would be fair to say that the resulting exhaustion led to irritable behavior and bad life decisions. It would be best, as the phrase went, to sleep on it.

Sighing to herself, Sam stacked the wads of cash and returned them to her backpack. Lying down, she resolved to ending this discussion when both of them were alert and well-rested.

OoOoO

At noon Sam rose from bed. Alex was still sleeping. When she entered to the bathroom, her reflection startled her. A bruised eye, a cut lip, various abrasions across her skin. Bloody hand prints from where Alex had grabbed her. Dry, it comes off with some scratching, but it doesn't make Sam feel any cleaner so she turns on the shower.

Alex couldn't have been in much better shape. Worse, probably. She wondered how they appeared to the clerk when they first appeared. Two beaten, blood-covered teenagers walking in at a motel in town that probably wasn't even on the map, at an ungodly hour and carrying plenty of hard cash and a few weapons. Not to mention a half-stolen car. The monikers Bonnie and Clyde seemed a lot more appropriate now. To any unsuspecting person they would appear to be dangerous fugitives, or victims of a terrible crime.

She wondered what they would do when they got to Los Angeles. She'd have to tell Chuck and Ellie what happened; there was no way around that. And what would _they_ do? Tell the police? Would that be enough to stop the guys trying to kill Alex?

He hadn't brought them up, not even once, since the thug told them about the Bearded Dragon. It was possible that he hadn't considered it. Sam decided to add that to the list of things she wanted to talk to him about.

The motel room came with little amenities, like the tiny bottles of shampoo and conditioner. Due to the length and thickness of her hair, Sam ended up more than half from both of them. She assumed that Alex, should he too take a shower, wouldn't mind since his hair was much shorter.

She stepped back into the same clothes she had been wearing for two days straight. Clean now, it didn't feel so bad, and at least she smelled better.

Alex was already up and fiddling with the radio when Sam walked out the bathroom, drying her with a towel. She didn't have a brush (not that it would serve her very well) so just settled with her fingers getting rid of the worst of the knots.

Only white noise was coming out of the machine. There were two knobs to play with, and Alex seemed to be going through every Possible combination to no success. Since there was no TV, the radio was their only connection to the outside world. The radio itself was ancient, built sometime in the 80's, and one antenna was broken.

Alex gave up soon after Sam started watching him. He hit the thing on the side, muttering, "Things busted. And I don't have any bars out here."

Bars? Sam had to go through her modern lexicon before remembering the term for cell phone service. Hoping to perhaps ease his mood, she offered, "Shower's open. I can try fixing it if you want."

The boy snorted, getting up and abandoning the project. "Good luck."

He shut the door with a flinching bang. As the sound of rushing water turned on, Sam stepped up to the radio, turning the thing back on and listening to the maddening static before turning it off again. Sam had experience with faulty radios; they were her only method of communication in the mountains, usually short range. She and her mother used only one channel to keep in contact with each other - to use public or service channels, they had to physically leave their mountain, and that usually took several hours. It was often inconvenient, and only worth the hassle if the situation was a dire emergency.

Thankfully, that had never been Sam's experience. Her mother proved to be quite resourceful, particularly in medical situations.

Straightening the broken antenna, Sam used a nearby pen and a hair band to keep it upright. Turning the radio back on, Sam checked the sound - it was a little different, but still no voices or music. On the FM airwaves, Sam slowly made her way down the scale, playing with the dial as she readjusted the antennae for better reception.

It was a frustrating process; sometimes she'd get the faintest notions of words, human voices, but no matter how much she worked at it, Sam couldn't get any coherent sound. Sometimes she got crossing signals from two different stations, which was just as unhelpful.

The farther along she went, the less hopeful she got. Sam was getting worried that there just wasn't anything to reach out here, when she twisted the dial one centimeter to the right, and suddenly male voices burst out from the speakers. It was so startling that it made her jump, and at first Sam didn't even realize they were speaking Spanish until about a minute later.

Alex emerged from the bathroom soon afterwards, steam chasing his heels. He shook his head like a wet dog, sending tiny water droplets flying everywhere. When he stopped, his hair was all standing on end.

Sam had to stifle her laughter at the sight of it, not wanting to irritate him further (even though it seemed to be his default attitude, but still), and only managing in a partial smile.

"What?" he asked, noticing the look on her face.

"Just..." Sam tried to find the right words she was looking for, but her vocabulary didn't seem to be big enough. "Never mind."

"Uh, okay," He blinked, frowning. Alex switched his gaze from her to the radio. "You fixed it?"

"I guess," _Fixed_ felt like too strong a word for this piece of junk. "This was the first station I found. Seems to be based in Mexico."

Alex nodded, remaining silent to listen to the commentary. After about a minute or two, the voices switched to music, and he finally said, "Doesn't seem like they're interested in American news."

"You can understand them?" Sam blinked at him in surprise.

"Can _you_?" he asked in reply, eyebrows shooting up.

"Yes,"

The boy tilted his head, sniffing. "Well. I guess we're both learning new things today."

Sam was pleased to finally be having a pleasant conversation with him. Alex usually responded to her with disinterest or rebuttals, so it was refreshing to finally getting some back-and-forth. In an attempt to keep it going, Sam leaned back on her arms and asked, "How many languages can you speak?"

"Five, not including English," he replied, sitting on the edge of the nearest bed. "I know Spanish, obviously. French, German. Some Italian. Japanese was the last. You?"

"French, Spanish," Sam repeated; another commonality. "Mandarin, you already know. Arabic. Russian."

"Which one was the hardest to learn?"

"Mandarin. I had to learn over a thousand different characters," she replied. "My mother didn't like it when I made mistakes. I wasn't allowed to speak or write in any other language for three months."

A ghost of a smile lit across his face. "That's rough. Japanese is the worst for me. I'm barely fluent. My uncle didn't have time to give me full lessons, and I never bothered to complete them on my own."

A look flashed in his eyes, but Sam was unable to interpret it. Still, she was left wondering; if Alex had an uncle, why was he being raised by a family completely unrelated to him? So she had to say, "You have an uncle?"

"Not anymore."

Before Sam could ask what _that_ meant, Alex shot up and stalked past her, grabbing his jacket before heading towards the door. Pivoting at the waist, Sam was in the process of standing up when she asked, "Wait, where are you going?"

"Food." He replied in an emotionless tone. Alex seemed to be deliberately speaking in monosyllabic words. "You can come, if you want."

He had already opened the door and left the building by the time Sam could grab it, not leaving her with enough to ask why. But as soon as she looked inside, Sam remembered – ah, yes, cash. In a small town like this, without even a bank, credit wouldn't mean much.

Stepping out, Sam could almost feel her breath evaporate as it left her mouth; the sun was oppressively hot. Her first instinct was to look up, and she was blinded, before shielding her eyes with her hand. The sand crackled beneath her shoes, practically glowing under the daylight, and Sam realized how thankful she was for the dark, air-conditioned interior of the motel. One of its one few graces, it seemed.

Sam followed Alex, about fifty feet ahead of her, hands in his pockets and head bowed under the power of the heat. There were no sidewalks here, just sticky tarmac guarded by blackish dirt. The only place to eat in town was the diner/gas station. There were a few trucks outside – the entire town had congregated for lunch.

Alex didn't wait for her to catch up as he went inside. By the time she'd reach the door, Sam's hair had all but completely dried – flash-fried by the sun.

Thankfully, the ten fans going on full blast inside the diner created a wonderful gust of coolness when Sam entered. She looked around, taking in the space.

From a cursory glance around the room, Sam noted that almost everyone – mostly men – had a gun. They weren't concealed in anyway, just right out in the open, gleaming from belt and shoulder holsters. One man even kept his shotgun on the table in front of him as he ate. Along with the firearms, Sam also noted that these same people were all wearing the same kind of hat, wide-brimmed, made of either leather or woven straw, with a pitted dome. It added to the decidedly rustic feel of the place.

Alex was well-hidden in the far back, the furthest window booth from the door. It had been surprisingly difficult to spot him; the room was filled with men, women, and a few children – all very loud and very close (and wearing tall hats). It took Sam a second to filter through the sudden influx of new voices, as well as the smell of cooking food, before she could clear her head and act.

She joined Alex, sitting in the seat opposite him. The boy didn't even glance up at her, just focused on the menu in front of him.

Sam was thinking of something to say when another voice said, "Well, howdy there! Welcome to Mom and Pop's Place! What can I get for you on this fine day?"

Both teens looked up at the same time. It was a waitress, the only one in the entire diner. She was middle-aged, with poufy blond hair piled on her head and thick eye shadow. Sam was too busy pondering on the bizarre word 'howdy' to give a hasty reply, so it was Alex who said, "I'll just have a ham sandwich, thanks."

"That's a funny accent," the woman said in a cheery tone, perhaps trying to make conversation with them. It wasn't going to work. "Where you from, handsome?"

"California," he deadpanned.

The waitress blinked, caught off guard and perhaps questioning his sincerity. She snapped on her bubble gum and tactfully moved on, "Well, alrighty then. And what are you going to have today, little lady?"

"Um," Sam hadn't even looked at the menu yet. She glanced down and said the first thing she saw: "I'll have a...cheeseburger and fries."

The woman smiled, scratching something on her notepad and bounding away to give their orders to the chef. She returned with glasses of water a minute later. As the two teens gratefully engaged with their drinks, the waitress remained until they finished. She popped a bubble, planting a hand on her hip and asking, "So, you two coming in from the city?"

"No," Alex said.

"Yes," Sam said at the same time. When she realized what Alex had, Sam quickly rectified with a confused, "-No?"

The two looked at each other. Alex's expression was a combination between shock and exasperation. At the look, Sam said with more confidence, "No. We're come in from...Montana."

It was the first place she could think of. Sam herself was bewildered: why were they lying about such an insignificant fact? And even then, if Alex had planned on not telling anyone here the truth, why hadn't he informed Sam so they wouldn't get caught in a contradiction? Did her hesitation make the lie less convincing?

If it was, the waitress didn't say anything to the matter. She just raised her eyebrows, glanced between the two of them, then nodded slowly, "Uh-huh. And how long you two think you'll be staying?"

"No," Alex interjected before Sam could reply. That seemed to be his intention. "We're just passing through. We're leaving tonight."

"Aw, too bad," The woman made a face, but didn't look too broken up about it. "We don't get a lot of visitors out here. Well, I'll be back with your food in about ten minutes, okay?"

As soon as she was out of earshot, Alex leaned over the table and hissed, "Nice going. You almost gave us away."

"Why did you lie?" She shot back.

"Why didn't _you?_ "

"It was a harmless question! I didn't think I had to!" Sam protested. She didn't like being put on the spot as she had been with the waitress. She wondered if there was some sign she missed from Alex that would have told her that they acting under false identities. Considering her ability to understand him so far (that is: not at all), Sam didn't think she would have noticed had there been one. "For all she knows, we could've been from Sacramento."

It seemed the intensity from last night had not yet faded and the mention of his uncle seemed to have soured the brief moment of camaraderie the two shared. The boy scowled, his hand on the table turning into the fist. "Well, from this point onward, we don't tell anyone who we really are, or where we're from, okay?"

"Not even the police?" she asked, finally remembering what she had meant to ask for a while.

" _Especially_ not them."

Well, that made no sense. "But can't they help us? If the Triad are that bad, then wouldn't we be safer under the protection of law enforcement? I mean, that's what they're there for, after all."

"Not the corrupt cops," Alex said, shaking his head. "Just because they have a badge doesn't mean they don't have loyalties elsewhere. They can be bought, bribed, blackmailed. You can't trust them."

"How can you tell them apart?"

"You can't," he replied in a short tone, dashing away any hope Sam had at getting any outside help. "At least, not soon enough. The Triad is huge, and they've got all the money they need to get what they want. We can only go to the police as a last resort – there may be some good cops, but I'm not going to risk it all if it means the Triad can get to me that much easier. The same goes for federal agents, too. FBI, CIA, the whole lot."

"Then what happens when we get to Los Angeles?"

"You go home, back to your family. A normal life."

"But what about you?"

"I keep going."

"Where?"

He fixed her with a hard look, but then turned his head away. "Does it matter?"

"Well, _yes_ –" Sam would have continued voicing her concern had she not been interrupted by the sudden arrival of their plates being set down in front of them.

The waitress, apparently oblivious to their conversation said, "Here you go, enjoy! Just call me down if you need anything, okay?"

The two teens nodded in silence and the woman smiled before dashing off again.

A stiff silence fell between the two of them. At first, Sam attributed it to the food and the overwhelming desire to stave off hunger – because that was the foremost thing on her mind in that particular moment. It would take her longer to figure out that Alex was refusing to speak to her. The matter as to _why_ and its various reasons wouldn't be understood for a long time coming.

Sam's understanding of human emotion – whenever she could correctly identify it – was rather limited. Her experience with human interaction was not helped by the fact her mother approached parenthood with a scientific mindset, and with all that was required of it.

After seeing how Mrs. Pleasure treated her family with open warmth and joy, Sam wondered if one or the other was somehow unusual. If her mother _was_ the unorthodox parent (lack of paternal figure notwithstanding), Sam supposed she turned out all right. She certainly preferred it than to be abandoned at a young age like Chuck and Ellie, or orphaned as Alex was.

Her mind having finished its meandering thoughts, Sam diverted her attention to her ears, listening in on the conversations around her.

Despite the size of the town, it was very lively within the diner. There was no shortage of conversation to be had here. There was talk of hunting, fixing cars, and an emergency trip to the nearest hospital; over an hour away. Aside from little tidbits about the area, such as the existence of a pack of coyote preying on the chickens, or the leaking water tower, Sam didn't find the personal stories to be very interesting. Not much happened in a small town like this, apparently.

How soon that would change.

"Oh, great," Alex muttered. His voice broke Sam out of her reverie, and she turned her attention on him. The boy's gaze was aimed outside the window. His whole body had gone rigid, hands clenched into fists on the table. "That didn't last long."

"What didn't last long?" Sam looked around just as the door opened and closed. She stared at the two men pausing in the threshold; they were both dressed in thin white jerseys and cargo pants – with handguns tucked into the back of their waistbands. The hiding seemed futile in a place like this. Sam didn't know either of them.

But the tattoos on their arms couldn't be more recognizable.

The Triad had just entered the diner.


	16. Sam vs. The Radio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just learned they’re making a new James Bond movie AND a Mission: Impossible movie this year. So excited!! And both of them are dealing with government-destroying secret organizations lol. HYDRA is everywhere guys.
> 
> Anyways, more fight scenes! I realize I don’t write them as often as I think I do, and I wonder if they’re not as fun/exciting/powerful as they should be, especially considering the characters involved. Let me know! I’d love advice on making them better, if you think it needs it, since everyone is saying they want a badass Alex :)

 

Chapter Sixteen

Sam vs. the Radio

 

Somehow, they hadn’t been spotted yet.

Of course, that was thanks to the locals, who immediately took notice of the Triad newcomers. Perhaps on appearance alone they were suspicious; the added sneers and general air of threat certainly didn’t help the matter. Everyone fell silent, gazes turning in their direction; the only sound that filled the room was the half dozen fans going, casting a mysterious breeze throughout the room.

Neither teen moved. Sam didn’t turn her head, just watched Alex, who was watching the Triad gang-members from across the room.

Then one man said: “Who let the Chinamen in?”

Alex closed his eyes, his expression pained. Even Sam knew that probably wasn’t the best thing to be said.

If the Triad were insulted, though, they didn’t immediately rain bullets on everyone’s heads. Instead, one of them growled in Mandarin, “ _We’re looking for two kids, a boy and a girl. Have you seen them_?”

“I can’t speak no fancy Chinese, mister,” the same obnoxious male voice called out. He sounded young, perhaps mid-twenties, and far too confidence for his own good. “We only speak American here!”

Alex rolled his eyes while Sam sighed. Good grief, this wasn’t going well at all. They were never going to get out of here alive.

Then one of the gangsters, possibly the same man (Sam couldn’t tell), spoke in English. “We’re looking for a boy and a girl. Have you seen them?”

“I don’t know, son, I see a lot of boys and girls in here!” someone else called, an older voice, also male. “You’re gonna have to be a lot more specific!”

“Do not waste our time,” the same gangster said, sounding more annoyed by the second. Sam had no idea what was compelling these townsfolk into being so oblivious, but she was thankful. It may be just the thing they needed to get out of here. “They would have been here recently. Both tall, young, fight well. Where are they?”

It was the waitress who spoke next. Hand on her hip and snapping bubble-gum, she stood in the aisle and effectively blocked the teens from view. “Haven’t seen anyone by that description! We don’t get lots of strangers in these parts, gentlemen. I suggest you move along now.”

“Not until you give us what we want.” The gangster said. “Or else.”

And then people were moving, shifting in their seats. Sam heard at least half the diner get to their feet, fingers itching towards guns and pushing up the brims of hats. One man, the older voice from earlier said, “Is that a threat?”

The English-speaking Triad man responded, but Sam didn’t catch it because Alex was out of his seat, crouching low and motioning for her to follow, hissing: “Come on!”

Sam ducked her head and dropped to the floor, wishing herself smaller in this very moment. It was hard to stay out of sight when your body felt too long and awkward, especially in tight spaces. Still, she followed Alex as he snuck to the other end of the diner, where the bathrooms were. Sam wondered if they’d have to sneak out through the windows, but luckily she didn’t have to worry about that. There was a backdoor.

The voices grew louder in the main diner. Sam swore she heard guns being loaded and her anxiety started to peak. The gangsters still didn’t seem to notice either their presence or absence. Alex tried to open the door as quietly as he could, but its squeaky hinges pierced the air, making the both of them wince.

“ _What was that_?” one of the Triad members demanded in Mandarin.

“What? I didn’t hear nuthin’,” someone said in the diner. “How about you, Steve?”

“All I hear is a couple rats squeakin’,” another responded, Steve perhaps. “You know, I’ve been itching to go varmint hunting. And there’s two rats right in front of me...”

Sam didn’t get to hear the rest of that conversation because they were out the door and into the blazing heat. It hit her like a brick wall and for a second she had trouble breathing through the thick air. It was so much different than the mountains. Her lungs felt like it was taking in more oxygen than it needed. Perhaps it was the change in altitudes.

The door shut behind them and Alex pressed his back against the wall of the diner. Although the air was still and quiet outside, there still hung the veil of danger and such suspicions were confirmed when they glanced around the corner.

In front of the diner were parked two shiny black cars. Or, they _would_ have been shiny, if not for the fine layer of golden dust covering them.

Only one of them was empty.

Sam only saw the man in the driver’s seat at the last second before Alex yanked her back. “Shit! There’s more.”

She glanced at him, already trying to map out a route to the motel without getting seen. But unless that man was blind, it was impossible. “He’ll see us if we try to go back. You don’t happen to have a gun, do you?”

Alex threw her a bewildered look, at the same time the wall to the left exploded.

_BLAM!_

Three more shots followed and Sam hit the dirt, covering her head as wood splinters showered all over the place. The smell of gunpowder followed, as well as the screams of terrified people and others rearing for a fight.

“That didn’t take long,” Alex muttered, picking his head up when the first of the onslaught passed. More shots were fired, this time going in other directions. She heard glass shattering and furniture being toppled.

There came the sound of car doors slamming as the driver exited his car to enter the fight taking place inside the diner. Well, it was now or never.

Sam didn’t even need to make the call before they were both scrambling out of the dirt and running pell-mell towards the motel. Sam almost didn’t recognize Alex’s car in the driveway, even though it was the only one there. The car wasn’t even its own color anymore; the pale blue had been completely covered in dirt and dust, turning it an ugly brown color and aging the car at least another ten years.

Alex skidded to a stop at the door, tried yanking it open. “Dammit! I left the keys inside!”

Sam was way ahead of him. She almost bust down the door in her haste to get inside the room, the darkness startling and nearly blinding her. Where was her bag? Under the bed? Near the nightstand?

Her eyes adjusted and Sam lunged for it. There was no way they were leaving without it.

Yet, as she stood up, Alex came in and slammed the door behind him. Sam didn’t even get a chance to ask what he was doing before two gunshots rang out and holes appeared in the wood.

Sam ducked, throwing herself against the side of the bed. Already she knew she was in a bad spot. She was closest to the wall with nothing to hide behind. The window was right there. If it shattered, the glass would come flying right towards her.

Then, silence.

Her breath was too loud in her ears. What was going on? What were they waiting for? Where was Alex? He had disappeared out of her line of sight only a second ago. She didn’t assume him to be hurt, as she heard no evidence of it.

“Sam, get back here, now.”

She was almost too afraid to move. Clutching her backpack to her chest, Sam took a deep breath to steal her nerves, and praying that the gangsters wouldn’t pick _now_ to shoot, threw herself over the bed and rolled to the other side, her feet hitting the floor in one smooth motion. Now she at least had the first bed as a barrier.

The radio was still playing. Sam focused on that, of all things, wondering why she left it on. _No! Don’t get distracted! There are men with guns outside that want to hurt you!_  
  
Then she heard a voice shouting. “ _Come out, boy, we know you’re in there. If you surrender peacefully, we will make your death short and painless._ ”

“What did he say?” Alex hissed. Sam glanced around — he hiding behind the bathroom, having turned off the light and rendering it as dark as the rest of the room.

“If you surrender, they’ll kill you fast.” Sam said, deciding to abbreviate for the sake of time.

“They’re lying.”

“Really? They seem very intent on killing you.”

“No, not that part,” Alex huffed and rolled his eyes, shaking his head before saying. “Trust me, Sam, the last thing they want is for my suffering to be short.”

“ _You have twenty seconds!_ ” the gangster called out. “ _Choose now, or we’ll choose for you. Twenty! Nineteen!_ ”

“What now?” Alex asked. He seemed to be playing with something in his hands, but Sam couldn’t see what it was.

“They’re counting down. Seventeen seconds.”

Alex didn’t respond. Sam frowned, wondering if he had heard her. He seemed to have disappeared in to the darkness. “Alex? What’re we going to do? They’re going to attack!”

“Nothing.”

“ _Nothing?_ ”

“Yes. We wait.”

“But —”

“The radio.”

“What?”

There wasn’t a lot of time to explain. Sam didn’t even know if she even had enough time to move before the man had finished his countdown. “ _...Four! Three! Two! One!_ ”

The countdown wasn’t completely accurate. It took another five seconds for the gangsters to react. Then the entire front wall exploded.

Glass and wood and paint and fiberglass went everywhere. Mattresses were torn apart, lamps obliterated, the curtains shredded. Light burst into the room like the Second Coming and the shag carpet disappeared beneath the layers of debris. The sound an automatic machine gun filled the air, powerful and deafening, seeming to last forever until it suddenly silenced.

It echoed. Tatters of paper and fabric flittered through the air. Dust permeated what was left of the motel room. The walls on either side were partly demolished, revealing the rooms hidden behind them. The sink, partly visible through the bathroom door, was a pile of ceramic rubble.

Broken pipes burst water onto the already damaged scene. Shadows flickered across the back walls, pockmarked with hundreds of holes that gave hints to the desert wasteland beyond. Footsteps, first crunching on dirt, then on broken wood, filled the empty void of sound.

Two gangsters stepped through the scene, their weapons at the ready. Both had handguns - it seemed as though they spent the machine gun on wasting the area, and they had shown up in person to finish off whatever was left.

Neither speaking, the two Triad men carefully surveyed the area. They checked the mattresses and under the broken drywall, looking for any spot large enough to contain (parts of) a human body. Yet there was no blood spatter to be found, no brain matter or any sign of a corpse.

It was too still.

They entered the bathroom together, exchanging suspicious glances. Bonnie and Clyde were supposed to die in a hail of bullets, yet the place had yet to become a crime scene. Where had they gone?

The answer was behind the door. One man pushed it aside with his gun. What he got was two sneakers to the chest.

He cried out, caught off guard and sent flying back, as the full weight of a 5’10’’ teenage boy came crashing down on top of him.

Triad #2 whipped around, caught by surprise. Neither had seen Alex, who had swung in from the shower rod and used his momentum to take down a man larger and better-armed than himself. The second man raised his gun to fire, only to find that his sight was being taken over by an FM dial.

The radio smacked him right in the face. Weighing at least two pounds and filled with more metal and wiring than necessary, Sam considered it a healthy feat to have launched that thing within the tight space of the bathtub. Triad #2 was sent reeling into the opposite wall, dropping his gun as his arms flailed, and completely unprepared when Sam followed up her attack with her backpack.

Alex was preoccupied with wrestling the gun away from Triad #1. He struggled with keeping the weapon aimed away from either him or Sam, and forcing the thug to fire it off into the ceiling, wasting bullets until the cartridge was empty. The man uttered a snarl, frustrated with having lost the value of his weapon and dropped it, delivering a swift strike to Alex’s shoulder and knocking him back.

As the boy stumbled in the debris, Sam was busy with her own opponent. Still trapped in the bathroom, Triad #2 scrambled for his fallen gun, camouflaged by all the wreckage. Practically standing over him, Sam brought up her knee, striking the man across the face before bringing both elbows down on his back, her boniness paying off in the amount of pain she delivered.

Meanwhile, Alex was getting back up when he took another blow to the chest, but rolled with it. Triad #1 telegraphed his blows, so it was easy to dodge the next one and bring up his arms. He had grabbed a broken metal pipe sticking out from the rubble only a second before and the thug didn’t see it until too late.

Sam picked up the radio again — still somehow in one piece (guess 70’s technology had _one_ advantage to it), and brought it down on Triad #2’s head — once, twice, three times before the wood casing cracked and the man slumped against the wall, drooling.

She almost threw it away, before she saw Alex fighting the other gangster. The bigger man was in worst shape, bleeding all over his face from where the pipe had cut him, but had managed to get a grip on the metal and ripped it out of Alex’s hands with his superior strength. Now Alex was dodging blows, trying not to get his head caved in.

The boy brought up his arm, deflecting one blow before slamming his foot into the side of the man’s leg. The man grunted, went down on one knee, yet managed to keep his grip on the pipe, nearly bringing down Alex as well. The jagged edge came dangerously close to the boy’s jugular before Alex tried pulling away, only for the thug to get the idea and grabbed Alex’s shirt, trying to shove the boy onto his own improvised weapon.

Alex seemed to be losing the fight until he looked up, then did the exact opposite of what the thug was expecting and threw himself to the floor.

_Crunch!_

Triad #1 was sent reeling backwards, jaw snapping up as the radio’s edge caught him under the chin. Had Alex not moved the second before, it would’ve hit him instead.

He stared at the fallen Triad gangster, breathing heavily, before looking up at Sam, still lugging the unwieldy machine. “Maybe a little warning next time? You almost hit _me_.”

“Oh, sorry,” Sam dropped the radio instantly, hands flying to her mouth. She had forgotten to call out her attack. It was only luck that Alex saw her before the thug did. “Are you okay?”

“I think...” Alex grunted, pulling himself to his feet and wiping off his jeans. They were both covered in dross. They both looked like strange stone statues, carved from brown rock. “I think I’ll be fine. You?”

“Some splinters, but nothing bad.” Sam looked down, saw something gleam through the haze. She bent down picked it up. “Hey, do you want this?”

“What?” Alex glanced at what she saw, then recoiled. “Sam, put that down!”

“Why? It’s just a gun.”

“Is it loaded?”

“I think so. It’s heavy.”

“Well, then, be careful!” Alex sounded angry, although Sam couldn’t fathom why. He had his hands raised, as though she might shoot him, even though she was only lifting it with her finger. “And don’t shoot anybody with it.”

“Why not? Isn’t that what they’re for?”

“Yeah, for _them_ ,” Alex threw a flippant hand outside, pointing to some unseen character. “The Triad. The bad guys. But not us. We don’t kill people.”

“Oh,” Sam said, although that logic didn’t make a lot of sense to her. If they didn’t kill any of the Triad, how could they ever be stopped? Why was it different for them? Because they were teenagers? “Why?”

“Enough with the ‘whys’! You shouldn’t even be asking that.”

That made even _less_ sense. “But, why —?”

“Sam, stop!” he said, waving his hands in the air, then reaching out and grabbing the gun himself. “We don’t use these, okay? End of story.”

That was not a satisfactory answer, but Alex was already turning away and Sam couldn’t think of a different way to phrase her question without getting shut down. Why was he so opposed to the idea? If anything, it’d make their task _easier_...

For the sake of maintaining peace, she heaved a sigh and said, “Okay, fine. We don’t kill people. We don’t use guns. Do you even know how to use one, Alex?”

“That’s not the point.”

“Do you?”

“Sam, I’m not kidding.”

Sam failed to understand that her incessant questioning was not achieving the goal she wanted. Or the fact that whenever he said her name, it was a sign of growing irritation, and possibly the fact that she wasn’t paying attention. Nevertheless, she said, “Because if you don’t, then its not safe for you to be holding that—”

“Its safer with me than it is with you.”

Well, that was awfully inaccurate. Sam had plenty experience, mostly hunting animals in the woods, but still. How much harder was it going to be hitting a deer than a human? Not that she would know now, of course. Alex had yet to explain his mentality to her. “You don’t even know —”

“I know enough.”

Great, he wasn’t even letting her finish her sentences now. But Sam didn’t get a chance to voice her complaint. She had just stepped outside was momentarily blinded by the sunlight. She brought a hand up over her eyes, focusing on Alex’s silhouette as he approached the brownish blur of the car. “You got the keys?”

“Yeah, right before the wall disappeared.” There was the sound of metal grinding in metal as Alex tried to unlock the vehicle. But the door didn’t give and Alex had to yank the key out again, kicking the tire in frustration. “Damn, there must be dust inside.”

“I thought modern cars had electronic locks.”

“They do. This battery’s dead.”

_Click_.

Sam felt cold metal being pressed against the back of her head.

“It won’t be the only one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam needs a lesson in basic morality. She’ll get one.


	17. Alex vs. the Gun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha i totally forgot i had this story on AO3. sorry!

 

**Chapter Seventeen**

**Alex vs the Gun**

 

“It won’t be the only one.”

The man appeared out of nowhere. He was the Triad Alex had seen in the car, somehow making it out of whatever mess was left in the diner. Alex had little time to react before the newcomer had a gun to Sam’s head. She went absolutely still, her mouth open in a silent cry of shock, as the Triad man walked around her, to face Alex.

There was a crooked smile on his goat-teed face. “You are a very difficult person to kill, Alex Rider. Although I would have expected you to learn by now, not to get anyone else involved.”

Was this man talking about Jack? Or maybe he was referencing all the agents that he had gone on mission with — none of whom lived to tell about it. Alex clenched his jaw. He wasn’t going to let it happen again, if he could help it. “Let her go. She’s got nothing to do with this.”

But the man tsked, shaking his head. He was tall and thin, like a scarecrow, but he was deceptively strong with big hands and a powerful stance. His black leather jacket had a red circle patch on the arm, a long-tailed dragon embroidered around the shoulders, disappearing behind his back. He plucked at Sam’s hair with his free hand, making her flinch as he said, “I’m afraid not, Rider. She has fought on your behalf, took out several of our men. Such dishonor cannot stand, not in this family.”

The man stepped back, his arm twitching as if preparing to fire his pistol — and Alex reacted on instinct. Acutely aware of the gun in his own hand this entire time, Alex didn’t even think as he raised it at the Triad gangmember. “Don’t.”

The Triad gangmember jolted in surprise before ducking behind Sam. He got his other arm around her neck, pinning her to his chest. She didn’t have a chance to fight back. With Sam as his human shield, the man was well-protected, and the move felt like an empty threat. Even if he wanted to shoot, Alex couldn’t do it.

“Easy there, boy,” the man said, voice low and smooth, his English perfect. “That’s a man’s tool. Are you really going to shoot me?”

Alex wasn’t having any of this. His heart was already going a million miles an hour, he wasn’t going to play games with this assassin. “You’re not giving me much of a choice.”

“Alex!” Sam said, apparently surprised. “You said you weren’t going to shoot anyone.”

The man laughed, pressing his face into Sam’s hair as if to wipe away the tears. “An attitude like that’s only going to get you dead, sweetheart. It’s kill or be killed in the game of money and loyalties. And I already know my decision. You want the girl to live? Drop the gun.”

His grip only tightened. Alex knew he was being risky, but he couldn’t trust that the man wouldn’t shoot Sam as soon as Alex disarmed himself. “Who are you? How did you find me?”

“Most don’t receive the privilege of knowing their killer’s name,” the man said with a tilt of his head. Despite his order, he did not shoot Sam, merely played with her hair, saying, “Only the Triad knows my true name, but you may know me as the Bearded Dragon, for however long you have left to live. Most men in my profession would be offended to be sent after a dead man, but I was honored. Rarely has a challenge proven so fruitful.”

Alex didn’t understand it. MI6 had promised him that they had faked his death, made his enemies forget about him so he could go back to a normal life uninterrupted. But here was that old life, charging back in unannounced and undesired. How did the Bearded Dragon find him?

Perhaps an oversight of MI6. Considering they couldn’t get anything done without needing a _schoolboy_ to save the day, it wasn’t really that surprising that they couldn’t even get _this_ part right.

“You didn’t learn your lesson after the first couple times?” the words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself. Maybe Alex was losing his mind, but a part of him suspected that the Bearded Dragon wouldn’t kill Sam.

Because then there would be nothing in the way of Alex killing him.

The Bearded Dragon sneered. “Watch your mouth, boy. I considered giving you a quick death, but I might just change my mind. My brothers asked for your head on a platter, but they didn’t say anything about the rest of you.”

“Oh, I’m quaking in my shoes.” Was his sarcastic reply. The idea of torture was an unpleasant one, to say the least. Alex had been on the receiving end of it multiple times, and every time had come out in one piece (for the most part). But right now it was an empty threat — Alex had not yet fallen into the Triad’s clutches, and he intended to keep it that way.

“I don’t think you understand the severity of the situation,” the Bearded Dragon squinted at Alex. Then he saw a flash of light in the man’s free hand — which suddenly wasn’t free anymore, now gripping a knife to Sam’s neck. Where in the world had _that_ come from?

Before Alex could figure it out (had it been in his hand the whole time? Did it come from his sleeve? How many more did he have?) the Bearded Dragon switched the now-redundant gun from Sam’s head to Alex’s. There was a self-satisfied smirk on the assassin’s face. “But have you considered _this_?”

The boy recoiled, taking a step back. Okay, this was unexpected.

_Chk-chk!_

“Not so fast, Chinaman.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Alex saw another man appear, double-barreled shotgun raised. Rotund, bearded, and a large white cowboy hat on his head. A silver star gleamed on his shirt pocket.

No way. Was this the _Sheriff_? This was starting to feel like a bad Western movie.

The Bearded Dragon glanced at the new party, eyes going wide. His gun wavered, switching from Alex to the Sheriff with quick jerks of the arm. He stumbled back, hauling Sam with him, who choked on the blade at her neck. Alex could see a thin line of blood forming as the knife grazed her skin. Sam had her hands around the Dragon’s arm, trying to keep him from pressing the blade too tightly.

“Looks here like we got a good ol’ fashioned Mexican stand-off,” the Sheriff said, squinting with one eye at the Bearded Dragon, who decided that the older man was the bigger threat. “Only we ain’t got no Mexicans.”

Alex was vaguely aware of the look of confusion on Sam’s face at that, but he was more concerned with the introduction of another weapon into the game. The Sheriff seemed mostly focused on the two in front of him, but he cast a side glance at Alex and said, “Don’t worry, son, I won’t let anything happen to your little missus.”

Alex just threw the man a bewildered look, half because of the sudden support, and also the man’s complete miscalculation of how dangerous this situation was. This was no regular stand-off, no hostage situation in need of good old-fashioned American heroism. No one was going to jail, there was no justice to be had. If the Bearded Dragon had his way, the only one walking out of this one alive would be him.

But it gave Alex a new surge of courage. Maybe it was stupid, but he was almost glad that this random cowboy decided to show up and try to save the day. If nothing else, it was nice not to feel alone.

And also, you know, because he had a shotgun.

It was an advantage Alex was willing to take. “You’re outnumbered. Just let her go.”

“Listen to the kid, Chinaman,” the Sheriff said, voice gruff. “This don’t have to end in bloodshed.”

“Oh,” the Bearded Dragon shook his head, smiling. “But that’s exactly what I signed up for.”

The Sheriff tensed, shoulders rising. “Hey, don’t —”

_BANG!_

“No!”

Alex pulled the trigger a split second after the Bearded Dragon did. The bullet hit the man’s right shoulder, missing Sam by less than an inch, right before she fell from the assassin’s arms. Everyone was moving in slow motion, and Alex couldn’t even remember who the Bearded Dragon had his gun pointed at before he fired. Had it been Sam? He had acted too quickly to check, and could only watch in stunned silence as the events unfolded around him.

It all happened so fast that Alex wasn’t even entirely sure _what_ happened. After Sam dropped, so did the Bearded Dragon, stumbling back and falling to his side, gaping at his wound and letting out a string of curses in Mandarin.

Sam fell to her hands and knees as the Bearded Dragon groped at his wound, trying to staunch the bleeding. She was still breathing, no terrible holes rendered unto her. Alex was so relieved, he didn’t even consider where the bullet might have gone.

Alex rushed forward and grabbed Sam by the arm, yanking her up and — after taking a split-second to make sure the blood on her neck wasn’t a serious wound — snapping back towards the car with her in tow.

But for some reason she was dragging her feet, distracted, and Alex didn’t think to look around until she screamed.

It was like a shock to his system, nearly as bad as the sound of gunshots, only he had never heard Sam scream before. It was alien and almost terrifying on that fact alone.

Alex whipped around, first taking in Sam’s look of horror before turning to see what she was looking at.

The Sheriff, lying still on the ground. The sand around him slowly turning the color of rust.

“Don’t look, Sam, don’t look,” although he was saying this, it took great effort for Alex to tear his eyes away from the sight. His stomach rolled with nausea but he forced himself to become blind to the blood, deaf to the rattling breaths leaving the men’s throat. He forced himself to look away, to focus on the car, on their next objective. “Just get in the car!”

Sam stumbled, still gaping at the Sheriff, gasping his last breaths as she tripped against the car door. She yanked on the door handle ineffectively until Alex remembered to unlock it, before flopping inside and barely able to get the door shut before the car engine blared to life and the tires were kicking up a cloud of dust, car whipping around and screeching back onto the road.

The windows were partly open. As he put the motel behind him, Alex saw the Bearded Dragon rise to his knees, shaking his fist in the air and shouting something in Mandarin. A curse? A promise? Perhaps both.

Alex couldn’t take his eyes off the rearview mirrors as they got out of that godforsaken town. Although they had left the Bearded Dragon lying in the dust, moaning, Alex was terrified of seeing another car appear behind him, ready to exact revenge.

But no such thing happened. Alex knew the Bearded Dragon wasn’t dead, having hit the wrong shoulder and all, and it would take time for him and the Triad to regroup — it was a small respite to what would be a very long, very tiring battle.

Images of the dead man flashed in front of his eyes. Alex blinked, gasping, trying to get his heart rate under control. He felt like he was going to be sick.

Now his thoughts were plagued with the Bearded Dragon’s words: how had the Triad managed to follow him here? This car didn’t have GPS, too old to carry one in its system, and Alex wasn’t dumb enough to bring his phone alone. Sam certainly didn’t have a phone, and even if she did, the Triad wouldn’t know how to look for its signal without a name.

So how did they do it? Satellite? Drones? What was he missing here?

About thirty minutes into this mad, aimless drive, Alex finally hit the brakes, pulling over to the side of the road. It was as bare and empty here as it was for the last fifty miles, with only sand and dirt and some scrubby bushes to fill the space. The sky was a brilliant blue that didn’t fail to blind him, and the heat still oppressive, but that didn’t stop Alex from killing the engine (along with the air conditioner) and getting out of the car.

He slammed the door harder than he had to, but after recent events Alex felt it was a valid reaction. He started to inspect the car, focusing on the idea that perhaps one of those Triad goons that attacked him in the gas station may have planted a tracker on the vehicle when he wasn’t looking. Or, hell, maybe it was placed _before_ any of this ever happened. From the sound of it, the Triad had known about Alex’s whereabouts for a while, and had been biding their time until the opportune moment.

He started from one side of the car to the other, checking under the wheel well and in the grill, as well as the general surface of the metal. The car was completely covered in dust, making it easy to spot the scratches in the paint, inconsistencies with surfaces that may have otherwise fell under his radar.

Checking the front right wheel, Alex’s hands shook, but he tried to ignore it. He felt like he just ignoring an incoming disaster, pretending everything was all right just so he could function. It wasn’t the best state to be in, he knew, but there was little he could do about it.

Then he looked next to him and realized he was actually in better shape than he thought. Sam, too, had exited the vehicle, but Alex had almost entirely forgotten about her until he actually looked up and saw her there, slumped against the car. It occurred to him that he hadn’t said a word to her since they left the town, and never bothered to check on her while driving, so distracted was he in his own mind.

Well, now he got to see what he missed.

Sam was hyperventilating, eyes wild, vacant and not registering what was in front of her. But Alex knew what she was really seeing — the murder of an innocent man, in broad daylight, repeating over and over with such clarity to the point that closing your eyes didn’t make it better; it just helped you remember.

“Sam?” he asked, trying to get her attention. But Sam was in a world of her own, speaking to herself, repeating the words the Bearded Dragon said over and over — did she realize she was talking in Mandarin? “Sam! Hey!”

Alex grabbed her shoulders, spinning the girl around to face him. Sam recoiled at his touch, her hand flying out. It hit him square in the chest, but thankfully it was only a weak blow — Alex didn’t even feel it through the adrenalin coursing through his veins. Had she hit at her full strength, however, he might’ve been knocked out of breath.

It took him an absurdly long time to realize she was having a panic attack. Sam tried to scramble away of him, kicking and pushing and crying out words in a jumble of English and Chinese that didn’t make any sense. She was breathing too fast — she was going to pass out if he didn’t get her to calm down. “Sam, stop! Quit fighting, I’m not trying to hurt you. Just look at me!”

Eventually she froze, recognizing his voice and tensed under his hands. Sam’s eyes searched his face, pupils dilated, not really focusing on anything, head wavering as her breath only quickened. He wanted to shake her, half out of frustration, the other half in the hopes to bring her back to reality, but on second thought he realized that would probably make things worse. Still, he was desperate and didn’t know what to say. “Sam, come on! You need to focus!”

Alex had no experience with this. He had no idea how to get Sam to calm down, and telling her to do that was not helpful. Yelling might not be, either. This was not helping him remain collected, either — her panic was starting to make him feel scared, too, out of control — the feeling was contagious, and Alex didn’t want to end up in the same state as her. If he did, then they’d both be dead.

He took a deep breath, deciding to start over. Trying to keep his tone measured (even though the thought of the Bearded Dragon and the Triad finding them at any second kept looming up on him), Alex said, “Sam, listen to me. Take deep breaths, okay? Don’t think about anything else. Just deep breathes.”

Incredibly, Sam started to respond. There was a hitch in her breath, before she took a shuddering gasp. It was still too fast, but it was much better than a few seconds before. Her eyes started to clear and remained on his face — Alex knew she was listening to him now.

He nodded in encouragement, trying to keep her steady. “Good, that’s good, Sam. Just keep doing that. Try, um,” Alex had to think for a second. “Counting to ten. Count to ten for me, okay?”

“Okay,” Sam’s voice was choked but she nodded and closed her eyes, and as she continued to take deeper, slower breaths, she mouthed the numbers.

Her body started to slacken, and Alex tightened his grip a little to keep her up. Her skin was hot and her face was flushed and wet with tears. Her body shuddered in rhythmic takes, the quiet sobs she was holding down and pushing away.

Alex couldn’t remember the last time he had a panic attack — he did remember the first time he saw a man killed, though, and that was enough to put anyone into shock. He rarely had the luxury of having someone else to watch over him in case something like this happened; Alex was sympathetic, but there was also an undercurrent of jealousy in there. Sam was lucky. She had it easy.

He tried not to let it cloud his thoughts. Instead, Alex asked, “Are you hurt?”

Sam shook her head, and Alex allowed himself a moment of relief. Aside from the shallow cut on her neck, which had already stopped bleeding, she appeared physically well. Alex hadn’t even considered if he himself had been injured; at least there was nothing to slow them down. Then he asked, “How do you feel?”

“Like my insides want to be on my outsides.”

“That’s...” Alex nodded, making a face. “That’s normal. A lot of people feel that. It’s okay.”

Her eyes opened, fixed him with a look of horror. “That man...he was just lying there on the ground. Bleeding. There was too much blood. Too much! He just shot him, Alex!”

The words just brought the memory back to the forefront of Alex’s mind. It almost took his breath away, and it took him a moment to recollect himself. “I-I know. I know. I saw it, too.”

Fresh tears welled up in her eyes. Alex was finding it difficult to hold her gaze. “Why? Why did he do that? It was an innocent man! He didn’t even know us! He — he just wanted to help? Why did he...why did he kill him?”

Alex knew who she was talking about despite the confusing use of pronouns. He swallowed, tongue feeing like sandpaper, as he said, “Because that’s just what the Triad does, Sam.”

“It doesn’t make any sense!” her voice rose in pitch and her breathing turned thin with another sob. Her hands wrung uselessly in her lap, fingers twisting and pulling at each other in what must have been painful, knuckles cracking and skin stretching white, but she didn’t stop. “They’re after you, not them! Why? _Why_?”

Alex could tell the panic attack was coming back. Realizing he might lose her again, Alex grabbed her face between his hands, thumbs on her cheeks and fingers wrapping around the back of her neck, getting the girl to look at him up close. “Sam, listen to me. The Triad aren’t like the predators you know, okay? A wolf can hunt a deer so long as it’s slow enough to catch — but if the deer’s too fast, or fights too well, the wolf will give up, find a stupid rabbit to make its meal. It’s not going to waste its energy on difficult prey when it can get something else easier.”

“The Triad aren’t wolves,” Sam said, scowling. He remembered she didn’t understand metaphors, but he wasn’t done anyways.

“Exactly,” he said, keeping his tone low and even. “The Triad aren’t wolves. They aren’t bears or foxes or badgers. When they hunt something, they don’t care how hard that person is to catch — it’s not about food, it’s not about survival, okay? It’s about revenge. A wolf doesn’t hunt a rabbit because it was rude. It’s not personal. But with the Triad it is. They don’t care how much energy it spends just so long as the job is done. Any obstacle that stands in their way — even if it’s just innocent civilians trying to do the right thing — will get mowed down without even a second thought.”

“Do you get it now?” Alex demanded, needing this message to get through Sam’s head. He shook her a little — not too much, mind you, just a gentle shake — saying, “They will _kill_ you, Sam, if they get the chance. Just because you know me. It’s my fault, I know, and I wish I could take back everything that happened. But it’s too late now. That’s why I’m taking you back to Los Angeles. You’ll be safe there, and I’ll lead the Triad away. You’ll never see me again.”

Her eyes widened but didn’t seem too upset by the news (at least not any more upset than she was before. She said, “But what if more people get hurt? What do we do?”

“We try our best not to get anyone else involved, but sometimes it can’t be helped,” Alex could only shrug helplessly. The Triad didn’t care who got in the crossfire, they had no mercy. “Either way, you can’t let it stop you. You may feel like you want to cry, scream, give up, but you can’t. Never let it overwhelm you. Just don’t think about it at all, if you have to. The only thing you _can_ do is keep fighting, keep trying to survive. That’s it. Do you understand?”

There was a pause before Sam nodded and Alex backed off. He returned to his searched, leaving Sam sitting there, to recatch her breath and collect her thoughts.

Eventually, Alex found what he was looking for. A small piece of metal attached to the bottom of the back bumper, magnetic but not very durable. Alex crushed it in his fist.

He stood up, and saw that Sam had as well. Her back was leaning against the side of the car, and she was staring out into the distance, an unreadable look on her face. The tears had dried, taken by the thirsty sun.

“Let’s keep going,” he said, as an invitation to go back into the car.

“We should change the rule.”

“What?” Alex hesitated, with his hand on the door, frowning at the back of Sam’s head.

She turned her head, glancing at him over her shoulder. “We should change the rule. About killing people.”

For a second all Alex could hear was the blood rushing in his ears. “Sam, I don’t —”

“We shouldn’t have to, I know,” Sam interrupted, surprising him. Her voice was calm, quiet, a sharp difference from what it had been before. “But it’s like you said, the Triad will stop at nothing to kill us. We’re at a disadvantage if we limit ourselves.”

Alex was about to say something, but then Sam turned all the way, placing her hands on the top of the car, giving him an earnest look. “We don’t kill because we want to. No innocent people get hurt. Only in self-defense, and only as a last resort. Guns, no guns, whatever.”

It wasn’t an easy decision. Real spies would be fine with it; hell, they probably killed more people than they needed to. But Alex had crossed that line once, and he wasn’t looking forward to doing it again. It was a terrible thing, even to someone who deserved it, who didn’t know love, or empathy, or any loyalty whatsoever — _who shared his own face_ — that would continue to be that block in his mind, the ache in his chest that always kept him up at night.

They said it got easier after the first time. Alex wouldn’t bet on it.

But if Alex had to choose between his life and the Bearded Dragon, then the answer would be obvious. If there was one thing Alex knew, it was how to survive.

So he said to her, “Fine. _Only_ as a last resort.”

She nodded, unsmiling.

They got back in the car.


	18. Chuck vs. the Back Seat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two updates! I just finished this one yesterday.

**Chapter Eighteen**

**Chuck vs. the Back Seat**

 

San Francisco was a nice city, if you liked walking up steep hills and slow trolleys.

Although Chuck had grown up in the cozy suburbs of Sacramento, his heart was in Burbank, Los Angeles. He loved the sprawling city, the casual chaos of traffic and beach and the Buy More. No one on his team liked the store; even Chuck had to admit it was an acquired taste.

But there were things he appreciated, like the fact that his best friend Morgan Grimes worked there, and his boss wasn't nearly as crazy and irrational as the rest of the employees.

 Still, a man like Big Mike knew how to instill fear into his disciples, so Chuck was a little nervous when he had to ask for permission to go on an out-of-city work call.

"What do you mean out-of-city?" Big Mike flicked the newspaper down to fix Chuck with his stink eye. Big Mike, as the title suggested, was a large man with a deep voice, with an equally deep love for his prized stuffed swordfish and Subway sandwiches. You didn't interrupt his lunch breaks if you wanted to live. "Who the hell is calling an inner city store for a virus scan?"

"I don't know," Chuck just gave a shrug. Thankfully after two years of practice on how to hide his extracurricular activities from his normal life, Chuck knew how to lie to his boss. "But they want me to update their security system, and they're willing to pay for the gas."

"Well, son of a gun," a grin broke out across Big Mike's face. "This must be one fat cat if they're willing to pay for some shmuck like you to play Tetris on their computers. Hey, why don't you take one of the Nerd Herders, and lie about the gas mileage. We'll put the extra cash to your commission."

"Uh, right, sure," Chuck said, trying hard to keep his face straight. Somehow, he felt guilty having to "lie" to a completely fake customer. Or maybe it was Big Mike's greediness starting to get to him. "It might take a day or two, just to let you know."

"Hey, take all the time you need! The more money I can leech from the one percent, the better!"

Chuck smiled and have a curt nod before heading out of the office. Well, that went better than expected.

Outside Bike Mike's office, Morgan had been waiting for him. "Dude! I heard about the awesome commission! Mind if I get in on the action?"

Morgan had been Chuck's best friend since elementary school, and lived a mere ten blocks away from each other. Although Morgan didn't follow him into Stanford (instead trying his luck at Vegas but only managed to get himself kicked out of every casino), they reconnected at the Buy More, an electronics and appliance store that Chuck had been working at for the past seven years, ever since he got expelled. Actually, Morgan was partly to thank for; without his recommendation of Chuck's "radical" computer skills, he might not have gotten the job.

"Sorry, man, but I'm pretty sure Big Mike wants you to stay here," Chuck said in a wince of sympathy. He patted Morgan on the shoulder - even though Morgan was nearly a head shorter than Chuck, he had maintained a nicely trimmed beard that actually made him look professional, rather than the gaming slacker Chuck knew him to be. "You're the Assistant Manager, remember? No more team-ups."

"Man, this sucks," Morgan threw up his hands and hung his head. "It's like being upgraded from Teen Titans to the Justice League, only now you can't see any of your old crime fighting pals or have any normal fun anymore. It's like everyone just expects me to be an _adult_ now."

"Well, you _are_ twenty-eight years old."

"Not the point," Morgan said, holding up a finger, but whatever he was about to say next was interrupted by a new voice.

"Well, well, well, look who we got here," Lester's voice was immediately recognizable and triggered an automatic eye roll in Chuck. The Canadian-Indian man sauntered up to them, hands in his pockets, gray tie flicked over his shoulder. With a cool toss of the head, Lester flicked his long, slightly greasy hair out of his eyes. "Big man on campus, stealing all the good commissions."

"You don't know the first thing about Next-Gen security software, Lester," Chuck really did not want to deal with inter-office jealousies today. Losing his cousin and chasing after Chinese Mafia was enough for him. "It wouldn't have gone to you anyways."

"No, no, I do not," Lester shook his head, trying to keep his head high even though he had just lost a lot of steam in his argument. "But what about our good friend Jeff over here? He hasn't been requested in over ten years!"

Lester waved his arm over to the Nerd Herder desk, where a middle-aged man with wispy red hair and a beer gut sat in his swivel chair, spinning around and making himself so dizzy that he fell off. The three men stared at the sight, slightly embarrassed, before returning to the conversation.

Morgan squinted. "I thought that was because of all the sexual harassment lawsuits we were getting."

"Well, it's not his fault he likes pregnant ladies!" Lester objected, which did not help his case. Like, at all. "Or women over fifty. You know, your guys really don't appreciate a man of his taste. Jeff is a one of a kind."

"He's a kind of _something_ , all right," Chuck said, his eyebrows shooting up and lips pursing as they watched Jeff stumble back to his feet and return to his spinning game as though he didn't learn from the last time. Maybe he hit his head too hard. "Look, Lester, you want them next commission, be my guest. I'm not going to be in town for the next couple days, so the lineup is all yours."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Lester jumped in the air, his hands waving back and forth and he shook his head, getting in Chuck's way before he could leave. "You are _not_ dumping all your responsibility on me, mister, no way. I will not be oppressed!"

Chuck just rolled his eyes again, mouth opening to complain. He just couldn't win with these guys, could he? What would possibly make Lester happy? He’d have to say something to get this guy off his back, at least until he could find something to appease Lester.

Luckily, he didn't have to.

"You wanna talk about oppression?" Came a low growl from behind him.

"Oh, Jesus!" Lester squeaked and spun around, taking several steps back when he realized who was standing almost directly behind him. His voice shaky and no longer carrying the gravitas it had before, Lester started to say, "Ha, Casey, wow, you really like sneaking up on people -"

"I'll talk to you about oppression," Casey said, completely ignoring the word vomit now spewing from Lester's mouth. Casey loomed over the much smaller man, his arms, thick as tree trunks and a glare that could melt comets. "How about the systematic oppression of South Africa during Apartheid, where if you so much as looked as a white person and happened to be the wrong color you would be executed or thrown in jail for life. Or how about the oppression of the people of Cuba under their elected leader Fulgencio Batista, who then seized power in a military coup and stole democracy right out from beneath the people' feet, which then sparked the Cuban Revolution, which then brought infamy to Ernesto 'Che' Guevara, who made Marxism look so heroic and attractive that idiot liberal philosophy majors like to wear him on their shirts.

"But yes, your petty workforce quibbles are so _oppressive_ ," Casey spat, watching with barely contained delight and contempt as Lester went from red to green to very, very pale. "Why don't you go cry about it on your blog, like every other whiny millennial—"

" _Oh-kay,_ buddy, I think it's time for your break!" Chuck suddenly said, weaving around Lester and grabbing Casey by the arm and hauling him away before he had a patriotic conniption. Chuck waved at Morgan, who was also looking a little stricken at Casey's mini filibuster, and called, "I'll just take him out for some fresh air. I think he's been selling grills for too long. You know how it gets."

To Casey he said, "Hey, maybe lay off on the other guys, okay? I can't keep vouching for you after each time you try to choke one of them."

All he got was an unsatisfied grunt, which almost sounded like, "...had it coming..." or something like that.

And now he was in San Francisco, and he was pretty sure Casey was still bothered about it. Of course, it wasn't like Chuck expected the human Terminator would ever talk about it, so he decided to pretend that everything was completely fine.

For the past couple hours they had been tailing a Triad guy, an underling with gauze wrapped around his arm. The CIA had a sleeper agent working inside the Chinese Mafia, secretly feeding them information through emails, where you had to read only the capital letters to understand the hidden message. In action it looked just like a badly typed, easily identifiable spam emails from some online shop that sold risqué sex toys, and slipped under the radar of any Triad guys trying to catch an enemy informant.

What they knew so far was that this particular gangster had been in a fight the previous night, at a gas station where they apparently picked on the wrong customer. Casey and Chuck sat in their totally-not-conspicuous white van with blacked-out windows, parked on the curb to a nearby park. They watched from afar as Sarah and Shaw engaged with the agent, posing as a lovesick couple looking for someone to take a picture of them in front of a pretty fountain.

Watching them kiss made Chuck sick to his stomach, to the point where he just had to say something. “Ugh, jeez. You know, is it really necessary for all that tongue action? I mean, there are _children_ watching!”

“Shut it, Bartowski,” Casey growled, hunched over the wheel and munching on a sandwich.

Chuck was in the back, watching Sarah through his binoculars. She looked amazing, of course, as she always did. A part of him regretted making the decision of having a ‘real’ break up, because let’s be honest, he was never _not_ in love with that woman. But the extra drama, and the work issues, just really made Chuck feel like he wasn’t as important to her as she was to him. And that was not something he could handle when his life was constantly on the line.

Still, that didn’t mean he had to like it when she kissed other guys. And by other guys, mainly Daniel Shaw, who could pass for Superman cosplayer even in his civvies.

Chuck glanced at Casey, tilting his head away from the binoculars. “Are you still upset about what Lester said earlier? Because, really, he’s not —”

“Did I give any indication that said it required conversation?” Casey growled, cutting Chuck off. He didn’t even grace Chuck with a glare. “If I wanted to talk about feelings, Bartowski, I’d buy a dog.”

“I-I don’t see how...” Chuck couldn’t parse through what Casey meant by that. Was Casey a dog person? Or did he think that’s what pets were for? Because he was pretty sure that wasn’t the main reason people bought them for. “You know what, never mind. You can just wallow in your misery and talk to your baby tree, if that makes you happy.”

“For the record, it’s a _bonsai_ ,” Casey snapped with a sharp look, and Chuck had to hide a shit-eating grin. Oh, he _knew_ what the tree was called, he just wanted to get a reaction out of Casey. It was like digging for gold in the Sierra Nevada. “And I don’t _talk_ to it, I keep it trimmed. It relaxes me.”

“Really?” Chuck cast the scary NSA agent a bewildered look. “No way, are you serious? Casey, that’s great —”

“Shut up!” Casey ordered, but it wasn’t because Chuck was pushing his buttons (although that might’ve been a part of it). Instead, the man pointed out the window, “They got him. We better get moving before someone notices.”

“Oh, cool,” Chuck hadn’t even been paying attention, but when he looked out again, he saw that the Triad man was now propped up between Sarah and Shaw, unconscious thanks to the tranq needle hidden in the camera’s flash button. “Right down to business, huh?”

The two agents dragged the man over to the van, Chuck quickly opening the back doors so they could toss him inside. The Triad hit the floor with a loud _thunk_ , shaking the vehicle and making Chuck wonder if they accidentally broke something. It made him wince. “Hey, easy there, that’s not very —”

“Not now, Chuck,” Sarah said, jumping in behind him and slamming the doors shut in unison with Shaw. “Floor it, Casey.”

A squeal of tires and a sudden lurch in the vehicle and Chuck nearly fell flat on his face next to the Triad. He had to grab a hold of the shelving on the side of the van, propping himself up so he could find a seat and strap himself in. “So, uh, what are we going to do now? We go to a hidden base and start interrogating him or...?”

“Not in San Francisco,” Shaw said, shaking his head. He hadn’t lost his balance when Casey tried to launch the van into hyperspace, and had remained crouched on the floor, checking the gangster’s vitals. “At least, nothing we can afford to lose if the rest of the Triad finds us. A back alley’s gonna have to work for now.”

“Oh, back alleys, that’s always a classic,” Chuck remarked, although he was starting to wonder just how bad it was in San Francisco if they couldn’t even hide in any secret bases here. Just how powerful _was_ the Triad?

“Have you Flashed on anything so far?” Sarah asked, looking just a mite hopeful.

But Chuck just shook his head. “Nothing so far.”

“Oh,” her eyes cast downwards, and Chuck felt a painful clench in his gut.

He had lost that ability nearly a week ago, and everyone was starting to get antsy. Chuck wasn’t sure what was blocking the Intersect from working — it had never done this before, except maybe when he was panicking. But he felt fine right now, for the most part.

The Intersect was the whole reason he was a part of the team right now, why his life was a giant clusterfuck of danger and spies and nuclear-bombs-in-suitcases. It was his only use to the team, and if he lost that too, then the CIA wouldn’t need him anymore. And Chuck didn’t like to think of what the CIA did to useless assets that knew too much.

The Intersect, a government project started years ago, only recently made complete, was an attempt for the US government and all its factions to work together and compile all their intelligence on their agents, foreign enemies, and all the various threats the world has to offer into one single computer. Made compact by hiding digital information into thousands of images and visual recordings, the Intersect was the safest and foremost authority on all things USA in regards to espionage. It was worth a fortune on the black market, an invaluable tool to both the Agency and bad guys alike.

It was worth even a fortune more when it was alive.

The Intersect was meant to be implanted into a human brain, a brain strong enough to retain all those images, extract the correct information on the right cue (usually a face, a name, a picture, et cetera), without the host going stark raving nuts. It was supposed to go to the perfect agent the USA had.

Of course, what they _got_ was a twenty-something college drop-out (okay, he was _expelled_ , but still. Chuck had never tried to go back) who worked a dead-end job at a place that barely utilized his ‘potential’, as Ellie liked to say. Chuck was not a spy in the least. In fact, he was the total opposite of one — excitable, honest, and perhaps a little too vulnerable to his own emotions, Chuck did not have the temperament to become a hard-nosed agent like Casey or Sarah, who took their work so seriously that they didn’t even _have_ a private life. Barely even a family, as far as Chuck knew. Sarah’s dad hadn’t exactly left a good impression. He was pretty sure that Casey might be a eunuch.

But the CIA decided not to kill him, despite all the inconveniences he might bring; or lock him in an underground bunker where he would feed the CIA the data they needed on their schedule, and he would never see the light of day again. Instead, he got to work with his two handlers, who weren’t as bad as they first appeared, and he got some benefits along the way.

Chuck wasn’t completely ungrateful. There were a few positive things to being a spy that he otherwise would have never attained. For one, he finally got his Bachelor’s degree in Engineering from his alma mater, who had been convinced by the CIA that his work serving the country, in all its various forms, definitely made up for the twelve credits he still needed to graduate.

So, technically, Chuck could quit his Buy More job as a Nerd Herder fixing old lady’s computers, and actually move on to bigger and better things, like Ellie always wanted him to.

But he couldn’t. The Buy More, and his job that allowed him to make home calls, was an excellent cover for a spy who couldn’t necessarily stay on the job if he had to save the say on a regular basis. So Chuck had to let Ellie think that he had no motivation, no ambition, no respect for himself to make sure the world as we knew it didn’t end every other day.

Sarah always told him to be proud of his work, of the sacrifices he had to make in order to save millions of lives. Not many people could do what Chuck did. He was a special kind of hero that could step up to the plate like this, when it would be easier to just give up.

It was hard, though, when Chuck couldn’t even confide in his best friend of twenty-odd years of all the wacky shit he’d done.

Eventually, the van came to an abrupt stop. The seatbelt dug into Chuck’s neck as he was jerked forward in his seat and he had to gasp and scramble for the buckle, undoing the latch before he could breath normally again.

Sarah opened the back doors and Shaw threw out the gangster in an unceremonious heap. The gangster, now returning to the world of the living, groaned and shifted groggily, rolling over and clutching his head.

Shaw and Sarah jumped out of the vehicle, and there was a corresponding sound of the driver door slamming of Casey exiting as well. Chuck, figuring this was going to be a team effort, made to get out as well, only for Casey to appear around the back, plant a hand on his chest, and shove Chuck back into the vehicle. “Stay in the car, Bartowski.”

“Oh, come on!” he complained just as the doors slammed in his face. “I thought that was over with now!”

Before Chuck had gotten the Intersect 2.0 downloaded, he had been relegated to staying in whatever vehicle his handlers happened to have at the moment. This was meant for his safety, since obviously Chuck had no combat experience outside of _Halo_ and _Call of Duty_ , but Chuck usually got around that roadblock by just not listening to them.

Always for a good reason, of course. It wasn’t like Chuck _wanted_ to put himself in danger; sometimes the danger found him.

Nowadays, or at least recently, the Intersect 2.0 not only allowed him to access data files, it also gave him _skills_ , like knowing Kung Fu or how to speak Portuguese, right when the moment called for it. Suddenly, Chuck just wasn’t an asset anymore; he was a _spy_ — a spy that could fight and shoot targets and talk his way out of hairy situations like the best of ‘em.

The CIA still wouldn’t take him seriously though, not until he took his Red Test. It was not something Chuck was looking forward to.

Then again, maybe he wouldn’t have to worry about, if his luck kept going the way it did. And by luck, he meant _bad_ luck, because if the Intersect wasn’t working, then he wasn’t getting information _or_ neat-o skills, so once again he got to sit and pout in the car like a five-year-old on time-out.

That's when Chuck noticed someone at the other end of the alley.

He didn't see them at first, mostly because he was too busy muttering to himself and making bad imitations of Casey's grunt to realize that there was a man with a gun - actually, several men with guns - slipping down the alley, their backs to the wall and entirely unnoticed by the team interrogating a Triad gangster, their view diminished by the van that took up most of the space.

"Uh, uh," Chuck scrambled out of the passenger’s seat and tried to squeeze into the back, only his sneaker got caught on the gear shift and he fell flat on his face. Not wasting a second, Chuck rushed back to his feet and threw his shoulder into the door, shouting, "Guys, guys, there's this guy —"

"Chuck, we told you to stay in the car!" Sarah said, throwing him a look of alarm. She currently had the gangster's arm pinned behind his back, twisting his fingers at a very painful angle, while Shaw seemed to be the one asking questions and Casey just stood back and looked intimidating.

It was quite a sight but Chuck was so used to it at this point that it didn't even register. "I know, I know, but there's some guys with guns coming around the front, I don't know who they are but I think they mean —"

"Freeze!"

"...Business." Chuck finished just as he felt a gun being pointed at his head.

A squad of four men appeared on either side of the van, their guns drawn. Just as Chuck started raising his hands in the air, the rest of the team burst into action. Sarah immediately dropped the gun and reached for her own, pulling it out a second later after Shaw and Casey, who aimed it at different heads.

"No, you freeze!" Shaw said, as though this were some sort of stupid kids’ game. "You're intruding on official US government business. I suggest you put down your weapons and identify yourselves before I have you all court-martialed."

"Hey, take it easy there, Slick, we're US government, too," the man in charge, tall with wide shoulders, but with graying beard and glasses, slowly took his gun away from Chuck's head and pointed it into the air. He pulled a badge from inside his coat. "I'm Agent Byrne with the CIA. I'm legit. Now who the hell are you?"

"Special Agent Shaw, and this is my team," Shaw said, showing off his own fancy badge. "Agent Walker, Agent Casey, and an asset we don't like to talk about..

Chuck made a face and was about to introduce _himself_ as an agent, but it was Sarah who spoke next.

"CIA?" Sarah frowned, her stance shifting but her gun never leaving Byrne's chest. "Beckman didn't authorize any other mission in San Francisco."

"That's because this ain't a mission," Byrne said, and Chuck realized he knew the name. "It's a search and rescue. I was assigned to look for a missing asset —"

"Samantha Bartowski!" Chuck blurted before he could stop himself, and earned a glare from everyone in the vicinity. Including the gangster.

Byrne threw him a bewildered look. "Yeah...wait, how do you know that?"

Chuck slipped forward, stumbling out of the van and landing on his feet. Byrne took several steps back, his gun wavering as though he were trying to decide if this was a set-up or not. "S-she's my cousin, she went missing two days ago. Beckman told us that you'd be looking for her. But what are you doing here?"

"Yeah, that's right," Byrne frowned, finally bolstering his gun after a moment's hesitation. The rest of his squad followed suit, but Chuck's team kept their guns out. "I'm following a lead. The last known images of Miss Bartowski were shown her boarding an intercity bus, headed north. We cross-checked her likeness with various destinations on that route, but the only one that pinged back was in San Francisco. On top of that, we have witness reports saying they saw a tall girl with curly hair running around, fighting off attackers. We identified them to be Triad,"

Shaw glanced down at the gangster lying at their feet. "The Triad knows about her?"

"I don't think so. More likely that they spotted what appeared to be a tourist and thought she might be an easy target. We've been tailing a few guys related to the incident," Byrne motioned to the Triad gangster. "As my friend here can attest, they picked on the wrong country mouse to mug."

The gangster just scowled at the ground, not saying anything. That seemed to be about as much of a 'yes' as they were going to get.

"Hm, small world," Casey grunted, apparently the most he had to offer to this conversation.

Byrne smirked, then turned his attention to the gangster and spoke in Chinese, a question by the sound of it. The gangster just made a face, but Casey turned his gun and fired it, the bullet ricocheting dangerously close between the man's legs. The gangster yelped once before looking back up and spewing out an answer, looking a little panicked.

Byrne just nodded and smiled. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Seems like they frightened the girl and sent her running. Last he saw of her was hitching a ride out of town."

Chuck felt his chest deflate with defeat. For the past couple minutes, Chuck had been hopeful, suddenly believing that Sam was still in San Francisco, close by and just waiting to be found.

But she had left before they even arrived. Chuck really hoped Agent Byrne was good at his job. "So we're too late, then."

"Oh, I'm sure she's still kicking," Byrne gave Chuck a sympathetic smile. It was striking how much this man looked like a family man, a father that would drive his kids to soccer games and participate in weekend house parties. It inspired a sense of trust in the man that made Chuck smile in return. "It's only a matter of time before I catch up to her. Well, it was pleasant meeting you all, but I'd say it's time for us to go and get out of your hair."

And Byrne's squad were gone as quickly as they arrived, disappearing back into the city.

"Right," Shaw said, looking just a mite inconvenienced. "Well, then."

He pivoted in his heel and pointed his gun at the gangster, demanding something in Chinese. "And if you could be quick about it, that'd be great, thanks."

"Wait, what are you trying to find out?" Although Chuck wanted to ask Byrne more questions, the moment had passed. He felt better knowing that Sam was in good hands, or would be, at least. Now he could focus better on the mission at hand.

"The location of the Bearded Dragon," Casey replied, his arms crossing with a sneer on his face. He looked ready to throw Chuck back into the van. "We're gonna find him, kill him, and us his position to infiltrate the Triad, like we did with you and Rafe Gruber. Only it's going to work better, because you won't the one in charge..

"Wow, thanks, buddy," Chuck threw the NSA a look. "Really appreciate the vote of confidence, there."

The gangster said something in Chinese, gaining everyone's attention. It was Shaw that translated: "Our friend here says he doesn't know, just that it was some place out in the desert, in the middle of nowhere. Apparently he's chasing someone."

"One of ours?" Sarah asked.

"I don't know," Shaw shook his head. "I think we would have heard something if one of our agents had been made. Must be some civilian that pissed off the Triad."

"We'll be able to save them, right?" To Chuck this mission had suddenly gained a new urgency. If the Bearded Dragon was after someone, then it was their job as spies to protect whoever the Triad was after, make sure they didn't win. It was, in Chuck's opinion, the right thing to do.

But Shaw didn't look as convinced. He kept his expression neutral and gaze discouraging as he said, "That's not the mission, Chuck. If we can, then we can, but our main focus is catching the Bearded Dragon, at all costs."

And with that, he swung his arm and pistol-whipped the gangster across the temple. The move was so sudden that it made Chuck jump. He just stared as Shaw walked away. "Wait, are we just going to leave him here?"

"Don't worry. I've sent for someone to pick him up," Shaw smiled easily as he climbed back into the van. "Can't have this guy snitching on us, can we? Come on, we're going on a road trip."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk why, but the Buy More employee characters are so hard to write. Like, each one has a very specific way of talking, not just in dialogue but the way they move on camera, and its very hard to translate that into text.


	19. Alex vs the Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally found a song that fits this fic, but I don't want to say what it is just yet. I want to save it for the end, kind of like a credits song, but that just seems so far away.

 

The blue stretched on for miles.

The horizon was a flat line in the distance, where red met blue that merged into the cloudless sky. Looking up was a dizzying experience --- one felt small in the tiny expanse. Even smaller when you looked around and saw that the ground was just as blank as the sky. Yellow-orange dirt, featureless flat ground, reaching out in all directions. Not a sign of life to be found.

It was incredibly depressing. Although focusing on the road kept Alex from thinking too hard about it, he couldn't help but feel miniscule in a world too big and empty. Miniscule and helpless, vulnerable the the whims of nature, indiscernible in its destructive chaos. At least in the city, which also made him feel small, Alex felt like part of a larger organism, living and breathing and writhing with energy. He seemed to have found the exact opposite of San Francisco --- and for that matter, Chelsea.

Alex had grown up in the city --- even after the extensive travels with his uncle, Alex felt like most at home surrounding by buildings and people, pressed together a little too tight, an organized chaos that somehow managed to keep running day in and day out. There was a sort of harmony to it, a solidarity to sharing one place with over a million other souls, stacked on top of each other. Sure, some of them were bad people and Alex never wanted to meet them --- but overall, the average citizen was a good person,  and Alex was all right in dealing with the foul underbelly so long as everyone else was all right.

Unfortunately, it just reminded him how alone he truly was.

Okay, Alex wasn't _necessarily_ alone, in the strictest sense of the word. Glancing beside him, Alex observed Sam dozing, lulled by the heat into a state of comatose. He had to admit, this was by far the last thing he ever expected to happen. The Triad hunting him down --- that was a little scary, but not completely out of left field. Alex was used to the idea of people trying to kill him.

As to the idea of having _help,_ he was not.

This strange alliance with a crazy mountain girl was the result of sheer circumstance --- an accident, really --- rather than by design. Surely no one in their right minds would ever pair two teenagers, so unlike each other, for a team. Even teachers in a school would know better, at least the ones who weren't sadistic. Alex wasn't sure if Sam even liked him. Not that it mattered in the grand scheme of things, but it was a nagging thought nonetheless.

As for him, well, Alex had met more annoying people, kids his age. Sabina's friends, for one. Alex would take Sam any day over one of those girls, who tended to whine when things didn't go their way, and then cry if things got too scary.

Okay, Sam _did_ cry. At least she waited until someone _died_ first _._ But Sam seemed to be handling it a little better now.

...Even though she hadn't spoken to him since they got back into the car. Alex hoped that wasn't a bad sign.

He was bothered by the promise he made, the Rule they agreed on. Don't kill unless you have to. Self defense. Last resort. Alex knew, with some regret, that he would do it. He could kill a man, on purpose, with his own hands.

Sam, on the other hand...even though she was shocked by the brutal death of an innocent man, Alex didn't know what she was capable of. How far she might go. Would killing someone bother her as much as it would him? Would she hesitate? Would she get nightmares and stay awake at night, reliving the kill over and over again, unable to be rid of the memory?

The cynical part of him said she wouldn't. Sam didn't see the world the same way he did; her understanding of consequences seemed to be juvenile, almost childish. Black and white, good and bad. Bad didn't deserve to live, and Good was righteous in all things. Simple, easy to swallow. Alex doubted Sam would be so tormented as he. Her mind would rationalize anything and she could continue on without a worry.

It seemed fitting.

The sun was starting to set when they finally reached the next town.

Just like the last one, this town was small and dusty. And just like the last one, open carry was quite popular with its denizens. With the car hitting the last gas marker, he decided to stop at the only gas station -- who knew when they would come across another one. Of all the things that could happen to them, running out of gas in the middle of the desert was definitely one of the worst of them.

Alex didn't intend to stay here for very long. Just a pit-stop, a break, then they had to head out again. They had to keep moving. Alex didn't know how fast news traveled around here, but he wasn't going to press his luck.

There was one of two pumps available. He stopped at one and got out of the car, facing the pump, only to learn that it was prepaid, cash only, inside. Sighing in a combination of exhaustion and frustration, Alex had to fetch Sam's bag, trying his best not to disturb her (or make her angry), before heading inside the gas station shop.

A small fan whirred half-heartedly on the counter, meagerly churning the stale air in the little dollar store. The cashier was a woman doing the crossword, who didn't even look up when he entered.

The exchange of cash for gas was short and unremarkable. Alex didn't think the woman looked at him even once, just seemed interested that the cash he had was legit.

The door opened again. Glancing behind him, Alex saw Sam look around before stepping inside. She retrieved her bag from him without a word, and began to peruse the aisles, apparently looking for something in particular.

Heading back out, Alex set up the nozzle before slumping against the kiosk. He slid to the ground, the breath leaving him in a huff. With the sun starting to set, it was getting cooler, but Alex still felt like he was being slow-roasted in his own skin.

Footsteps on gravel, then Sam appeared around the kiosk, carrying a whole crate of bottled water she just bought. Sitting a few feet away, Sam offered a bottle -- still without speaking a word.

Alex paused before taking it. The water was lukewarm, since it hadn't been refrigerated, but that didn't matter. It could've been straight from an Arctic glacier  for how good and cold it tasted to him. Alex downed half before Sam could one up for herself, then he dumped the rest on his head.

"You should probably conserve it."

Alex glanced at her warily. "We have enough."

He wondered if that was the wrong thing to say, because Sam finally met his eyes, although her face was unreadable. But it only lasted for a second and she switched her head away, working her jaw. He saw a muscle in her neck twitch. The cut on her neck was covered in dry blood, staining the front of her shirt. As if she felt him staring, Sam raised a hand and tried brushing away the dried blood, but pulled too hard and reopened the paper-thin cut.

She hissed under her breath, pressing the back of her hand to the cut to stop the bleeding.

Alex hesitated, trying to think of something to say. It seemed as though Sam had little patience at the moment, but he didn't want to remain silent and let her think he didn't care. "...D-does it hurt?"

Sam winced as she withdrew her hand, now red with blood, then put it back. "I've had worse."

He didn't know what to make of that, but it didn't make him feel much better.

"I'm sorry. This is all my fault."

Sam tilted her head at him, her eyes flicking up and down. "What do you mean? You keep saying that, but you never say why."

"I'm the reason all of this is happening. You wouldn't be here, you wouldn't be hurt, if you never met me." Alex said. He couldn't give her the exact reason. She would understand even less than the Pleasures did.

"Maybe not," Sam relented, studying the ground for a moment. Then she glanced back at him. "But you didn't hold a knife to my throat."

"I might as well have."

She wrinkled her nose in confusion. Then, as she took her bottle, dabbed her fingers in water, and washed it over the cut, Sam said, "No, you didn't. You had a gun, not a knife."

Sam said this like he was stupid for forgetting or something. Alex opened his mouth to protest, but Sam went on: "Did you intentionally mean to hurt me?"

Alex blinked, closed his mouth, then said, "Of course not."

"That's what I thought." Sam replied with a slight smile, taking a sip from her water. Alex had no idea what she was getting at. "The Bearded Dragon wanted to hurt me. He wants to kill you. You can't help that."

Alex frowned. Her words were kind, but naive. Should he tell her the whole story, so she'd get it? So she knew that this wasn't just circumstance? "The Triad don't attach just some random kids. They want -"

"Revenge, I know," Sam interrupted, rolling her eyes in annoyance.  "I heard, too. The Bearded Dragon made it very clear why he was after you. I just don't know _why_. What did you do to them?"

He remained silent, grip clenching around his water bottle. The plastic crunched under his hands.

"It's fine if you don't want to tell me." Sam eventually said, surprising him. "You don't have to. I won't make you."

A wave of relief washed over him. Alex didn't think she would react that way. Usually people were curious, too curious, always asking questions they didn't actually want an answer to. Sam seemed to fit the mold, but Alex had to remind himself that Sam's mind didn't work the same way he was used to with other people.

He swallowed, his throat dry, and he grabbed another bottle of water. After taking a long drag, he swallowed, wiped his mouth, then muttered, "...Thank you."

"But it better not get us killed," Sam added, with a slight hard edge. "Mother always says communication is important, especially for survival."

And just when he thought she couldn't say anything stranger. Alex flashed her a look. "Why would you learn survival?"

Sam just stared right back at him, equally confused. "Why _wouldn't_ you?"

Alex made a face before shaking his head. It seemed that having a decent conversation with her was simply impossible. It was both frustrating and bewildering, and Alex laughed a little, wiping a tired hand over his face. "You make no sense, you know that?"

"You make even less sense," she replied, smiling at his laugh, then jerked her head towards the pump. "I think it’s done by now."

Alex had completely forgotten he had been filling the car, and hadn't heard the pump clunk to a finish. Standing up, he cast an uncertain look at Sam. "I hope you know -- it's only going to get worse from here on out."

Sam nodded gravely. "I know. Do you want chips? I never had those before."

The sudden switch in topic left Alex feeling a little off-balance. Sam didn't spend a lot of time ruminating, did she? Not much seemed to slow her down.

Well, at least, she had her priorities straight, for the most part. Alex blinked, trying to keep up with her thoughts. "Yeah, sure. Get only food with preservatives -- we're going to be out there for a while, and we don't have a cooler."

Sam nodded once before bouncing off.

By the time she came back, Alex had replaced the pump and started the car. It was stifling within the metal confines, and a part of him didn't want to keep driving. It was too hot, and this day too long. But it still wasn't over yet.

Sam slid into the passenger seat, tossing four bags' worth of food into the backseat. It seemed like she got every chip flavor known to man, along with boxed cereal and fruit cups. Not exactly a balanced diet, but better than nothing at all.

Turning to him, she said, “It's going to be dark soon."   

"I know."

Alex could feel her staring, eyes unblinking, but he made himself not look back. "You think you can drive the whole night?"

"Don't have much of a choice," Alex said, gripping the wheel a little tighter as they hit the road again. "Not if we want to stay ahead of the Triad."

"Oh. Right." Sam made a face, but didn't say anything else. She glanced out the window as the buildings faded back into the desert.

The sun grew lower, covering the world in blood. If it weren't for the cacti and occasional animal, Alex could've mistaken this for Mars. Stars appeared in the distance, white against the dark blue as it spilled across the sky. The moon appeared behind them, a half disk resting on the horizon.

"Please don't push yourself," Sam said, her voice almost a whisper, nearly swallowed by the rumble of the engine.

Alex said nothing as they drove into the sunset.

**~~~**

 

Alex woke up with his forehead against the steering wheel.

He winced, squeezing his eyes shut as bright light blinded him. His tongue was thick in his mouth, rough as sandpaper, and his neck was cramping. The car was sweltering, the discomfort waking him up faster.

Alex's mind was scattered, slow to start, even as the world started to fall into place. He wiped at his face, getting sand out of his eyes.

He couldn't remember the last thing that happened -- just a dark road, a pair of headlights, and a moon far overhead.  

After that, he had nothing.

Shaking his head, Alex straightened up, squinting out the windows. At first he couldn't see anything, but the whiteness faded to yellow and brown, rocks and dirt and hills stretching out for miles ahead of him. Where was he? How did he get here? "What the f...?"

Alex had no idea where he was.

Alarm hit him like a freight train. Alex jerked back in his seat, suddenly wide awake. "Ah, shite!"

Beside him was Sam, passed out in her seat, her breathing slow and deep, the midst of peaceful sleep. The windshield was covered in a fine layer of dust. Instead of waking her, he burst out the car, breathing hard and trying not to panic.

The sun was like a hot iron to his skin. A blistering wind hit his face, sand biting into his skin. Alex recoiled, bringing up his hand to protect his face until he could see again.

He stumbled, his legs still sleep-heavy. Alex whipped around, looking every which way. The desert rolled out all around, hills and levies of nothing but sand and dirt and dead plants.

There were no signs. There was no road. No electricity poles or the sounds of cars rushing by. The tire tracks behind his car extended somewhere into the distance, wavy and meandering.

Alex fell against the side of his car, stunned, the metal sizzling hot.

He had driven off the road and straight into the middle of the desert.

They were very, very lost.


	20. Alex vs the Backpack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this has been on hiatus for quite some time. I'm updating this chapter because it was partially already written, and I decided to finish it because of a nice PM someone sent me, which I appreciate very much. However, I'm not sure if I want to keep writing this fic, partly because I've lost inspiration for it, and the plot I have planned out for it doesn't feel as epic as a typical Alex Rider story. I guess we'll see, but if there's still interest in this story, I'd really like to hear it, guys, along with any ideas you might have, I'm welcome to them J
> 
> Anyways, one of my thoughts for the future, if this fic holds true, is to reveal Sam is neutroatypical/autistic, partly in thanks to a lovely review who called her a retard (much appreciated :P) and I figured it's actually not too bad of an idea.
> 
> I've done some research, and although I'm not entirely confident on all the semantics of what autism is like and all its variations, but I DO want to portray it positively, to show that there's nothing wrong with being autistic, and it's not a sickness or disease. If you have any personal experience or information or ideas that might help (especially if I got something wrong, idk), I'd really appreciate it :) I'm partly inspired by Spencer Reid from Criminal Minds for her character, if that gives you any reference.
> 
> Right now she's only 'coded', though, since she doesn't really know and, well, no one else does either. Except for her mother, who has an interesting idea of parenting, anyways.
> 
> So, food for thought. Enjoy!
> 
> Note: the writing style probably has changed a little since its been a while and I probably learned some things. Hopefully its better :D

**Chapter Twenty**

**Alex vs the Backpack**

* * *

Sam stood on top of the car, holding her hand over her eyes. "Nope. I can't see anything. We must be over a mile away from the road."

She turned and frowned at Alex, who was leaning against the car with his arms crossed. A fierce scowl marked his face although she couldn't understand it. "Why didn't you stop when you got tired? I told you not to —"

"Push myself, I know!" Alex threw up his arms. Utterly frustrated and not knowing what to do with himself, he kicked the car's tire. "I'm an idiot, I know!"

It had been an hour since Alex had woken up to find himself lost in the middle of the Mojave Desert, and so far, his situation was not improving. First he learned that the car's engine was dead, after trying repeated to start the ignition; Sam had surmised that after they crashed against the cactus that the car had continued to run while they slept, until it ran out of gas and the battery proceeding to die because of the headlights remaining on. Even worse, aside from being utterly lost, incredibly hot, and stuck with an annoying passenger, Alex couldn't find the battery charger in the boot, where it was usually kept. It was after a moment of dumb realization did he remember Mr. Pleasure having taken the charger out to, well, _charge_ it, and Alex hadn't returned it to the car when he'd taken it out for the midnight drive.

Every decision he made. _Every. Single. One_. It just made everything worse in ways that he somehow never anticipated. This entire thing, a doomed enterprise from the start.

"I never said you were an idiot," Sam replied, frowning down at him with her hands on her hips. She jumped down from the top of the car, her vantage point. Dust puffed around her feet when she landed. "But now that you mention it —"

"Please, stop!" Alex held up his hands, before curling them into fists and clutching his head. God, his life just kept getting worse and worse, didn't it? He couldn't handle all of this at once. "Just stop. I just...I have a headache. I need to think."

Sam relented, shut her mouth, and waited; watching him the entire time.

That, however, was not what he wanted, even though it was technically what he asked for. Already regretting his previous words, Alex snapped, "Will you stop? I can't think when you're staring at me."

"I'm not staring."

"Yes, you are! You're doing it right now!"

"Oh," Sam blinked, then averted her gaze, having the decency to look embarrassed. But then she looked back, apparently unable to help herself. "Does it bother you?"

"I — what? Yes," Alex was already having a hard time comprehending his current situation, he was not in the mood to be putting up with Sam's shenanigans. Great, now he was using the word _shenanigans_ , fantastic. He was officially losing it. "Yes, it does! It's… it's unnerving."

"Unnerving," Sam repeated, tilting her head as she ruminated on the word. Alex didn't always go out of his way to be rude, but sometimes it just happened; Sam, however, seemed more intrigued than offended. "No one's ever told me that."

Alex found that rather difficult to believe. He threw her a skeptical look. " _Really_? No one told you that staring at people is rude?"

She looked shocked. "It is?"

Groaning, Alex dropped his head into his hands, sinking to the dusty desert ground. "Of all the people I had to get lost in the desert with, it had to be you."

"It could be worse," Sam said matter-of-factly, following Alex as he traipsed back to the car. "You could be on your own."

Alex threw her a disgruntled look, then just shook his head as he reached inside the open passenger window. Pulling out a water bottle, Alex snapped the cap and took a swig — the warm water sort of negated its quenching qualities, but it was getting so hot that Alex's standards had dropped to a new low. Sam flopped down in the shade of the car, pulling up her hair in a ponytail, and not looking nearly as nervous as Alex would've liked. Throwing her another glance, Alex cast his gaze over the dry brown desert.

Where there might have been car tracks had been were blown away by the wind, leaving him no clue as to how they got here. The very least he could assume was that they came from the opposite direction the car was currently pointed in, and if Sam's compass held true, then the road should be somewhere west.

"No engine, no tracks," Alex muttered to himself, looking down to study his water. He was taking mostly to himself now, trying to organize his thoughts, his next plan of action. "Can't fix anything. But we can't stay here, either. We have to find the road again."

He had just grabbed the strap of Sam's bag and pulled it out of the car window when Sam stood up. Before he could ask what she was doing, her arm snapped out and snatched the other strap. Alex made to pull away, and as he turned away, idly wondering if this was just her being weird again.

But Sam didn't let go, and caught him in a quick stop. Startled, and now arm a little sore, Alex spun around to face her, grimacing. "Oh, what now?"

"We shouldn't leave the car." Sam said, frowning when Alex took one step back — the bag stretched out between them, both sides unrelenting. She glanced down, then met his gaze again, and her eyes narrowed. "It's too hot to be walking through the desert right now."

"So you'd rather we stay here and cook in the sun? Die of starvation?"

" _No_ ," Sam's voice turned hard at the accusation, her brow furrowing deep. Oh, good, he made her mad now. "We only stay for a little while, until it gets dark —"

"We don't have that kind of time," Alex shot back. He wasn't sure why Sam always seemed to be the most frustrating at the least convenient opportunity — but he was having none of it today. "We don't know where we are. We don't know how far away help is. And we aren't getting any by staying here. Last I checked, neither of us had a cell phone."

"Because you don't trust them." Sam pointed out.

"That's —" Alex started, then cut himself off. Again, that thought in his head: _Your fault, all your fault. Can't do anything right_. He shook his head, making a sound of annoyance, although if it was at Sam or himself, who could say. "You know what, never mind. We're lost and we need to get back. It's that simple."

"If you don't know where we are, how do you plan to find the road?" Sam asked, tilting her head. Her tone wasn't accusing, more curious, although Alex wouldn't have taken it as sincere until her grip on the backpack slackened a little. She didn't let go, however. "I want to get back, too, but maybe we're going off on things too fast —"

"Well, unless you got a better idea —"

"— I _do_ —"

"— A _different_ idea," Alex corrected, and immediately Sam picked up the slack on the backpack. The strap snapped back, and Alex nearly stumbled at the sudden force she used. Grunting a little, Alex kept his feet grounded and straightened, glaring at her. "Look, I don't think you really understand what's going on here, Sam. Those blokes hunting us, the Triad, they'll just find us again. We stay any place too long, we're just making their jobs easier. And I prefer staying alive, thanks."

"Well, you won't be doing that walking through the desert at the height of the day —"

"Yeah? I've done worse," Alex said, and with one last jerk of his arm, wrenched the backpack from Sam's grip. She yelped when the strap was ripped from her hand, wringing it in pain as Alex slung the bag onto his back and pulled a heel turn. "I'm going. You can stay if you like."

Leaving Sam behind was not Alex's favorite idea. But as he started making walking west, Alex had a good feeling that if she stayed, she wouldn't wander from the car, and he'd be able to come back for her once he found help.

Whenever that would be.

Five minutes passed. Then ten. Alex kept walking. The desert stretched out, small rolling hills of sand and dirt and rocky outcroppings. The occasional lizard skittering across the barren landscape. It was then he remembered how lonely it was out here, how small he was in a world that was too big. The sun focused solely on him, as if it had a vendetta against teenage boys who got in way over their heads time and again.

And yet Alex didn't feel bad for himself. Didn't feel like he should be. He was still alive, wasn't he?

The same couldn't be said for his uncle. Or for Jack.

Although he'd never admit it, Alex was already starting to regret leaving her, and was just about to turn around when he finally heard footsteps coming after him. Glancing over his shoulder, Alex watched (with barely contained relief) as Sam came jogging down the last dune after him.

Sam didn't look nearly as angry as she had when he left her, although the look she regarded him with said that she still wasn't happy with this decision. Still, as Alex stopped and waited for her to catch up, he felt the need to say something. But what? He couldn't apologize for this choice, he knew this was what they had to do. His paranoia couldn't allow anything else.

But the right word came to him eventually, as she finally slowed down next to him. Glancing away, Alex hesitated, embarrassed. There could be other things he should say; an apology _really_ wouldn't hurt, would it? But it would also be a lie. And he'd gathered so far that Sam didn't appreciate lies, even white ones.

So instead, he went with the truth. "…Thanks."

Sam just huffed. "Not like you gave me a choice. You took all the water."

"Oh. Sorry." _Now_ the apology was warranted.

They began to walk again. Alex made to shrug off the backpack, to give it to Sam, but before he could get it all the way off, Sam already had her hand up. "No, no, you keep can keep it."

Alex paused, looking at Sam uncertainly before he slowly shrugged the bag back on. "A-are you sure? It's your backpack."

"Oh, no, _you_ wanted it." Sam shook her head, turning her gaze towards the way ahead as she picked up her pace a little. "It's yours now. You carry it."

"Well, if that's what you want," Figuring this was payback, and rightly due, Alex decided it wasn't worth starting another argument about. Despite himself, he smiled a little, glad that there was at least a lightness in Sam's voice, a sort of knowing that they were both doing their best at working together.

The weight was starting to bother him, though. Alex pulled one strap off so he could pull the backpack around to peer inside. "What do you even have in here, anyways?"

Beneath the water bottles, he found the wads of cash he'd seen the other night. Sam glanced over, watching him as Alex palmed through what was indeed thousands of dollars, Euros, and Yen. "There is literally no reason for any person to be carrying this amount of cash on them. Did you have all of this when you came in from Montana or wherever?"

"Yes," Sam replied, as Alex dug deeper. She didn't seem concerned he was going through her possessions; he hoped she wasn't serious about this being his now. His hand brushed against something metal and pulled it out as she said, "My mother packed it. I thought it would be useful to bring with me."

"…To San Francisco?" Alex frowned curiously as he looked at what he'd grabbed. A lighter, which wasn't nearly as odd as the cash. At least it was conventionally useful. He dropped it back in and continued to dig.

Sam sighed. "I didn't know that at the time."

"I really hope getting lost isn't a habit of yours," Alex said, finding something else, a small round tube. "Because I think its rubbing off on me. And why the hell do you have lipstick in your backpack?"

He added this last part, bewildered, as he twirled the thing in his fingers. Okay, so this was certainly a major contender for _weird_ in Sam's category - the money he could sort of understand now, but lipstick? Sam really just did not seem to be the type. Sabina, or her friends, maybe, but not this. Not for survival, especially.

"Oh, I think that's my mother's," Sam said, looking about as confused as he. She plucked it from her hands, studied it for a moment. "She packed my stuff. I don't really know why she put all that stuff in there. Just what she thought might be useful, I guess."

"And she thought you'd need lipstick?" Alex asked, skeptical.

Sam just shrugged, tossing the lipstick back at him with all the disinterest he rightly expected a girl like her to have with make-up. He nearly stumbled trying to catch it as she said, "My mother doesn't really talk much about that sort of stuff. Sort of like you, I guess."

"Well, it's not really your color, anyways," Alex quipped, dropping the lipstick back in, and earning a confused look from Sam. Sheepish, he added, "It's a joke. The color, the lipstick, doesn't really go with your skin."

"Because you would know these things."

"Oi, I take offense to that," Alex said with a sniff, putting on an air of mocking that got Sam to smile. At least she understood _that_ was a joke. "Sabina likes to lecture me on girl things. I wouldn't be a very good brother if I didn't agree with her on everything, after all."

" _Now_ you're joking."

"Ha-ha, yes."

"Ah!" Sam broke out into a grin, a new bounce in her step. "I think I get it now. You have a weird sense of humor."

"It's called sarcasm." Alex said. "Invented by the British. Its required that we're experts at it."

"Really? And what are Americans experts at?"

It took a second for Alex to think up a good answer. "Ruining our good tea."

"Oh, you're right. I hate tea." Sam replied, and they both started laughing. It was in the midst of this that Alex realized, with a strange sort of clarity, that he was almost having _fun_.

And in the strangest possible way, no less. In the blazing heat, with a long trek ahead; in miserable conditions, after one bad day after another; just yesterday they were held at gunpoint and nearly died; and after less than an hour ago, a decisive argument with Sam — and here they were, somehow managing to find some humor in the moment.

Getting along.

And the farthest thing from feeling alone. Or forgotten.

How truly bizarre.

Alex didn't know what to make of it.

The laughter died, and perhaps because of this realization, a silence plunged between the two of them. For a while, only the sound of their crunching footsteps kept them company; with the occasional animal call or gust of wind to break the monotony. The silence was deafening in a way, almost suffocating, and the heat surely wasn't helping. Time stretched with nothing to fill it, and Alex wasn't really sure how much time passed when Sam spoke again.

"Alex, about yesterday…"

He picked his head up, not realizing he had been staring at his feet for what felt like eons. His neck had started to ache. But the dread in his stomach was already eclipsing that pain, and Alex was hesitant to reply, knowing what was to come. "What is it?"

"That man, the one that died," Sam said. She, too, was focused on her feet, but hadn't looked up when he had. For a moment, Alex felt protected as he watched the play of emotions on her face; the worry, the fear, the sadness. "I-I've never seen a man…I mean, was that…was that our fault?"

"I…" Alex knew what he _should_ say. He should say what Sam had told him at the gas station, that they never intended for him to die, that they meant no harm, so the sheriff's death wasn't on them. But Alex didn't think like Sam did, and he had no clear answer for her. "I don't know. Maybe."

"What do we do, then?" Now Sam looked at him, looking bereft. She hugged her arms, as though it were cold.

"What do you mean?" Alex just gave her a helpless look. What kind of question was that?

"I mean, he's dead. He's dead and it's our fault, we should be…" Sam looked up at the sky, apparently searching for the right word, an answer that Alex was sure he wouldn't be able to give her. "We should be doing something. It's not fair. We get away, and leave other people hurt behind. It feels wrong."

Alex surprised himself when he understood what she was trying to say. The desire for justice, revenge, for not letting crimes go unpunished. Even if, in this case, it was their own hypothetical crimes they were talking about. Eventually, he said, "You're right, Sam, it is wrong. And it's not easy. But we didn't have a choice."

"I hate that."

"I know. I do, too."

Another quiet fell, this time solemn and dark, one that Alex could feel even as the sun continued to shine without any hindrance of clouds. Something cold had settled upon his shoulders, inside his chest, an unshakable feeling that he had done something wrong that couldn't be fixed. Regret, perhaps? Foreboding, maybe? There was nothing he could say either to himself or to Sam that would make this any better. Nothing that could make it go away.

They continued to walk across the Mojave. Hours passed. The sun continued its lazy passage through the sky; Alex thought it might never sink over the horizon, until the sky finally turned purple and the sun low and red in the distance.

By that point his feet were sort, his skin most certainly sunburned (apparently Sam's mom thought sunscreen wasn't necessary on the West Coast), not to mention famished. Sam, looking as exhausted as he did, just sat down at one point and didn't get up. Alex, relieved that he didn't even have to ask, nearly collapsed next to her. Setting the backpack between them, nothing was said as they ate some of the food they bought, drank water, considered the path ahead. Whatever path there was. The road still remained far out of sight.

As Alex chewed on an energy bar, he wondered how this excursion rated compared to his other "adventures", if you could call them that. While walking through a desert, lost and confused, was certainly bad, it wasn't nearly as awful as almost getting eaten by a shark. He did prefer this to swimming blind in freezing underwater tunnels, however; the memory of claustrophobia and drowning alone made Alex shudder. The wide open space of the American desert was a far better alternative, even if the swim had been brief.

But he didn't think anything could beat his experiences in India, which had been pretty much miserable the entire way through. Also, hanging over the snapping jaws of crocodiles had been rather unpleasant, as was being eaten alive by mosquitos. At the very least, neither of these things were happening to him. The insect life here was rather tame, to be honest.

And his one companion not wanting to kill him was rather nice, too. It was unlikely she'd turn out like Ash had. Alex just hoped he could keep Sam alive. He wasn't sure how many more deaths he could handle anymore. Jack had nearly done him in. He still didn't feel normal, wasn't sure he ever would.

It wouldn't take much to finally push him over the edge.

But for now, Alex would keep going. Keep fighting. As he always did.

Night fell, and Alex let Sam use the backpack as a pillow when she lied down to sleep. Thankfully, the air had cooled down significantly with the sun gone, and Alex finally felt like he could breathe again. It also allowed him to clear his mind, ruminate as he took the first watch, determined not to fall asleep haphazardly again.

While it was unlikely that the Triad would find them out here, lost as they were, Alex was not in the mood to be caught by surprise again. He sat, hugged his knees, waited those peaceful hours by as he watched the hills around him. Above, black night was alive with a million, million stars. Alex was nearly caught off guard when he looked up and took in the massive glittering quilt of the Milky Way. It traveled from one end of the sky to the other, larger than Alex had ever seen it, almost magnified by the emptiness of the desert.

Taking in these stars, finding the familiar constellations, Alex marveled at them. He never saw these many stars at home — either in Chelsea or in San Francisco, whose skies were always greyed out by light pollution. A city boy at heart, Alex was starting to understand why some people could bear to live so far from society. Something like this was meant to be experienced by a few or alone.

Something about those stars must have done something to Alex, because one second he was watching them, and the next he was waking up on the ground, cheek in the dirt, and wondering groggily why the world was so bright and hot again. It hurt, an unpleasant sudden change, and he squeezed his eyes shut, wishing for night again.

"Alex."

Sam's voice, a short, tense whisper.

He winced, opening his eyes again against the harsh sunlight. Sam was next to him, sitting up now, wide awake.

But she wasn't looking at him.

That's when he saw the boots behind her. Next to her. Next to _him_. Surrounding them in a circle.

A sudden rush of adrenalin had him jolting upwards, but the cold metal of a gun to the back of his head had Alex freezing still just as quickly. Heart pounding in his throat, Alex met Sam's eyes, saw the black metal at her head as well. Her face was pale, even beneath the sunburn, her lips pressed thin. But otherwise, her face was even. Sam was hiding her fear, Alex realized; an unexpected move, but not one that would do them much. The faces of the men were just out of his field of vision, but Alex didn't have to look up to know who they were.

"Oh, Alex," came the Dragon's drawl, directly behind him, the hand that held the gun to his head. "To think we may have lost you in this awful desert! Now, why don't we pick up where we left off?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sidenote: I really like the song One in a Million by Midnight to Monaco for Alex, at least in this fic. It's just got that feel to it. And I love the lyrics :)


	21. Sam vs the Long Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long updates, I'm still not satisfied with the quality of this fic, but I am trying to figure it out. So far, I have the climax and its location determined. If you have your own feedback/ideas, I'd love to hear them!

**Chapter Twenty-One**

**Sam vs. the Long Road**

* * *

 

Sam stumbled over a rock.

The gun jammed against her back, and the gangster walking right behind her growled, “Keep moving.”

Sam only uttered a small sound of complaint before righting herself. The sun bore down on them as they trekked back to the road. An hour of this and the road had appeared, appearing out of the golden haze like a rippling black ribbon. The cars, seven in total, gleamed like their own suns under the cloudless sky. Sleek vehicles in dark tones, there was something menacing in their low forms and angular shapes. It vaguely reminded her of the mountain lions that lived in Montana — silent, sleek, and by the time you noticed them, it was too late.

To think they had been so close to the road. Had they kept walking that previous night, she and Alex would’ve surely discovered it eventually.

But now they were held at gunpoint, being marched to what was certainly their doom.

At least there would be air-conditioning inside the car.

Sam was momentarily distracted by this pleasing thought; if there was one good thing to come from being captured by the Triad, it was finally getting out of the sun. She briefly considered sharing this thought with Alex, but had the distinct feeling he wouldn’t appreciate in the same way she did.

The march had been made in utter silence. Alex and Sam didn’t share a single word the entire time — the threat of guns pointed at their spines, along with the handcuffs around their wrists, seemed to imply that any activity of the sort would be met with severe disapproval. Yet, as they approached the cars, Sam couldn’t help but glance at Alex. He returned the look but remained quiet; they both understood that if they got inside those cars, they would probably never make it out again.

But what else could they do? Sam and Alex were completely outnumbered. There were ten escorting them, and that wasn’t counting the Triad drivers still in their cars. Sam couldn’t think of a situation where either of them got out of this in once piece with these odds.

What was the best course of action here? Was there one at all?  
  
Sam was considering the idea of not doing anything at all, at least in regards to pissing off the Triad, but apparently, Alex had other ideas. When one of the gangsters stepped forward to open the backdoor to one of the cars, shoving the two of them forward, Alex apparently had enough.

He tried digging in his heels, resisting the grip around the scruff of his neck. But that only resulted in him falling, and the grunt just snarled, hefting Alex up again. Alex writhed against the grip, trying to push away from the grunt with his hands, still bound. The grunt struggled with containing him — it lasted only a second before the grunt brought up the butt of his pistol, and backhanded Alex across the face. The boy dropped once more, clutching his head. Sam was frozen, gaping at the sight, before someone pushed her head down and shoved her into the back of the car.

Her shoulder banged against the door on the other side, her knee skinning against the rough floor of the car. It was so dark in here that at first Sam couldn’t see a thing. When her eyes adjusted, she picked up on the tinted windows, which made it much darker than it should’ve been. The seats were soft leather, and there was the distinct smell of nicotine. There was ash scattered across the floor. Apparently the Dragon liked to smoke.

Alex was thrown in next to her, and she winced at the sight of blood from his brow. He seemed a little dazed, moving sluggishly against the seat. Sam had no idea why he had fought; the only thing he achieved was further injury to himself.

She opened her mouth to speak, but didn’t get the chance when a third person joined them inside the car.

The Bearded Dragon.

The back of the car had opposing seats, like a limo, and the Bearded Dragon settled himself opposite of the two teens. As the door slammed shut behind him, the Bearded Dragon eyed them while chewing on a toothpick. He didn’t speak until the engine started.

“I’m surprised you haven’t thanked me yet, Rider,” he said, raising his eyebrows at Alex, who just scowled in return.

“And why the hell would I do that?”

“Because if it wasn’t for me, you’d still be out there,” the Dragon replied. The car started to move, and Sam might have been inclined to look outside and watch the travel, but her eyes were transfixed on the Bearded Dragon. His arm was in a sling, rather haphazard bandaging around his shoulder from where Alex had shot him. It didn’t look to be a professional job. Sam noticed that the Dragon was still sweating despite the cool interior (she was right about the air-conditioning), and there was a strange pallor to his skin. “How lucky you missed one of the trackers on your car. You should be thanking me. If it we hadn’t saved you, you would’ve likely died out here!”

He almost had a point, but Sam wasn’t going to say that. In fact, the Bearded Dragon intimidated — for obvious reasons. She recalled being held at gunpoint with absolute clarity, and was highly aware of the pistol lying casually in the Bearded Dragon’s lap. His uninjured hand was resting on top of it, his finger only an inch away from the trigger. It would only take a second for him to kill the both of them.

“Saved me?” Alex snorted. “I thought you were trying to kill me. For an assassin, you’re not very good at your job.”

“Ha! You jest,” The Dragon laughed, wagging the gun up and down at Alex. “But yes, I could’ve killed you back there. But where is the fun in that? The Triad specifically wants your _head_ , Alex, and I intend to fulfill that request. Only a proper beheading is appropriate in this condition. You’ve brought great shame to my brothers, and I’m afraid that’s a slight you won’t survive.”

“You’ve told me this before,” Alex said, and the car kicked beneath them as the driver switched gears. They were going much faster now, over the speed limit, something only afforded by the flat and empty road. Alex settled in his seat, seeming far too relaxed than Sam felt was warranted for the situation. He seemed very familiar with this situation, in fact appeared quite bored with the whole matter. “Anything new you’d like to share with the class?”

“They told me you were a smart-ass,” The Dragon replied, likewise unsurprised by this behavior. He tilted his head, inquisitive. “Is it also true what they say, that you are without fear?”

Something flickered across Alex’s face, before he shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Really?” The Dragon leaned in, squinting at Alex with his dark eyes.

Alex didn’t react, even when the gangster got right up into his face, raising the pistol, pressing the muzzle right between the boy’s eyes. “Even when I do this?”

Alex didn’t say anything. Sam sat next to him, every muscle in her body rigid, watching the Dragon studied him, pushed Alex’s head back with the gun.

He flicked finger, released the safety. “Or this? I don’t my brothers would mind if your head came side order of lead.”

Alex didn’t break eye contact with the Dragon. Didn’t even blink. Sam forgot how to breathe.

Seconds passed, where the only thing that moved was the car around them. Sam was terrified the wrong jostle might jerk the Dragon’s trigger finger on accident, but didn’t move herself in case the same thing happened. The Dragon’s eyes were fixated on Alex’s face, searching for something she couldn’t fathom.

Then he pulled back, dropping the gun with a smile. “Well, well. I underestimated you, Rider. I’ve seen eyes like your before, but rarely on anyone so young. Did you know there’s a distinct look in someone’s face, after they’ve killed someone? I can spot it anywhere, and where else do I find it but in yours? I guess the rumors are true, after all.”

Alex didn’t say anything, but something in his eyes darkened at that, a muscle in his jaw twitching. Sam glanced between the two of them, wondering what the Dragon was talking about. Was he saying that Alex had killed someone?

Sam looked at Alex again, and had to admit, she didn’t see what the Dragon saw. Perhaps it was a learned thing.

When it became clear that Alex wasn’t going to respond to that statement, the Dragon sat back, smirking like he won the argument. He just shook his head, saying, “Do you think I want to be here, Alex?” again, no response. The Dragon threw Alex a skeptical look, throwing up a hand. “You think I want to be running around this goddamn wasteland for one dumbass kid and his — who the hell even are you?” he snapped, directing this last question at Sam. “Huh? What, you got nothing to say, you bug-eyed freak? Stop staring at me like that.”

Sam jolted in surprise, not expecting the Dragon to pay her any mind. When he continued to glare at her, she realized he was still waiting for an answer, and finally said, “It’s going to get infected.”

“What?” he demanded.

“Your shoulder,” she made a small gesture with her finger. “It’s going to get infected if you seek proper medical care.”

“Oh, really?” the Dragon sneered, in what may have been sarcasm (but Sam wasn’t sure). He held up his arms, pointed out the window, to the ever-unchanging desert outside. “And do you _see_ anyplace that I could _get_ this medical care? You wouldn’t happen to know of any doctors that live in the middle of fucking nowhere?”

Realizing that she made a mistake, Sam hunched up her shoulders, retreating further into her seat. She could feel Alex staring at her, although she was too intimidated to look away from the Dragon at the moment. “I’m just saying. You’ll only make it worse.”

“Well, great, thanks for the advice,” The Dragon said, rolling his eyes. “I’ll be sure to remember that when I take your head, too, along with your boyfriend’s here —”

Both Alex and Sam vocalized their protest to this last idea, but both were interrupted when, at the same time, the driver called from up front. “Uh, boss? There’s a chopper.”

The Dragon blinked. Looked over his shoulder. “A _what_?”  
  
“A chopper. A black one, on the right — look!” the driver pointed, and all three heads peered out the window. “It looks like its coming right for us.”

            The observation was not an inaccurate one. The helicopter, which was indeed black, was less than a hundred meters off the ground, and the ­­ _thwack-thwack_ of its blades were impossible to ignore. The Dragon scowled, pulled back and said in Mandarin, “ _Radio the others! I want to know who called aerial back-up that I didn’t ask for_!”

The driver’s seat was filled with radio chatter, but all seemed confused, slowly growing panicked. “ _No one ordered it, sir! We can’t make contact_!”

“ _Well, get rid of it! It’s flying too low —”_

“What did they say?” Alex hissed at Sam, leaning in so they wouldn’t be overheard by the argument between the Bearded Dragon and his cronies.

“The helicopter isn’t with them,” Sam replied, her eyes flicking back out the window. “They don’t know who it is.”

Alex and Sam exchanged looks as the helicopter continued to drift closer. If it wasn’t the Triad, then who could it be?

That’s when the helicopter pivoted, facing the cars broadside, and opened fire.

Bullets landed right in front of the car, hitting the hood and forcing the driver to a sudden stop. There was a simultaneous cry of surprise as the passengers were thrown from their seats (seatbelts being neglected), then again when they were rear-ended by the escort sedan directly behind them.

Sam’s shoulder took the brunt of the fall as she ended up on the other seat, next to the Dragon. He was spluttering, having knocked his head against the back window, and seemed a bit dazed. The car had come to a complete stop, and the sound of gunfire continued outside. The other Triad had left their vehicles to return fire, and were now in a firefight between a helicopter, now circling somewhere above.

“Sam, come on!” Alex had already recovered, throwing his weight into his door. It seemed to be stuck, but Sam noticed he had somehow managed to get rid of his handcuffs.

The Dragon groaned, clutching his head. When he opened his eyes, he stared at Sam for a moment, before reaching his gun.

Sam was a bit faster. She swung her leg around, kicked him in his shoulder, directly over the wound. The Dragon howled, dropping the gun immediately, and gave Sam enough time to scramble away.

At the same time, the door finally gave way to Alex’s weight, and the two of them toppled out to the hot tarmac below. Sam got roadrash on her hands and knees in the attempt to break her fall.

“Are you okay?” Alex had to shout over the noise. A loud bang somewhere to the right had both flinching.

“Fine!” Sam said, although her shoulder was starting to ache from all the falls she took today. Pressing her back against the car for better cover, she looked up to see the helicopter pass by overhead. Even from here she could see the machine gun mounted to its side, and what appeared to be a broad male manning it, firing off with surprising accuracy at the Triad. “Who are they?”

“Give me your hands!” Alex said, appearing not to have heard her. Without waiting for a response, he took her wrists, a key in his hands.

“Where did you get that?” Sam asked as he unlocked the cuffs. They fell away and she rubbed her wrists, marveling.

“Nicked it off the big one after I fell,” Alex replied with a half-grin, as he tucked away the key. “Now come on!”

Without a pause for breath, Alex took Sam by the arm and pulled her up, already on his feet. They ducked as bullets went off over their heads, the Triad scattered all around them. They ran from the Dragon’s car to the one behind, nearly tripping over the body of a fallen gangster.

Whatever was going on, the Triad definitely weren’t prepared for it. They were scattered around, trying to issue commands, but without their leader they were at a serious disadvantage. Sam was just doing her best not to get shot; they took cover behind the second car, ducking down just as a hail of bullets went over their head. Sam had no idea who it was that shot at them, but she had a good feeling it was one of the gangsters.

Looking up, she tracked the helicopter’s path as it swung around again, angling itself so the gangsters were forced to look into the sun. Their shots went wide, while the machine gun hit its targets — that is, the engines and tires of the vehicles on the ground, herding the gangsters into easier-to-manage larger groups.

There were no markings on the helicopter that Sam could make out. She could hardly say what the make of it was, either, she knew nothing about that, but she doubted it could be a civilian craft. “Who are they? Military?”

“I don’t know,” Alex had a hand over his head, squinting through the bright sunlight. Blood had dried on his face.   “I don’t know where they came from, or how they even found us out of here — or if they’re here for us at all…” 

Things got decidedly more interesting when people started dropping out of the helicopter.

Sam looked up when she saw a flash of light, and watched as a coil of rope dropped out the open side of the helicopter, followed by one - two - _three_ people zipping down to the earth below. Each in brown camouflage and bulletproof vests, two with guns.

“Alex!” Sam called as a warning, but when she looked around, she was startled to find the spot next to her was completely empty. She shot up a little, head switching back and forth in confusion. What? Where had he gone?

But Alex had effectively disappeared to God-Knows-Where, and Sam was suddenly alone when the Dragon’s car exploded.

She hit the dirt, covering her head as hot metal debris rained down. The air was filled with more gunshots and cries as men fell. Sam had no idea who had been hit, but decided that wasn’t important. She’d rather try her luck in the wild than stay here in the fight, utterly defenceless.

Only a quick glance before she was in a crouch again. A gangster had just flipped over the hood with a cry. He landed just a few feet away from Sam. She jumped back, but had nowhere to go because of the car at her back. The gangster already had his gun in hand, aimed at her.

Sam flinched just before he pulled the trigger.

The window behind her shattered when the bullet missed — inches from her shoulder. Sam blinked, just barely catching the sight of the black shadow that appeared, the boot that kicked the gangster’s hand — changing the path of the bullet at the last second.

Two gunshots, and the gangster’s head fell back. His body went limp. Sam’s eyes finally drew to her would-be savior.

She didn’t expect to recognize the black hair and square jaw.

Daniel Shaw?

“W-what are you doing…here?” Sam shook her head, sure she was dreaming. Shaw looked so different in fatigues and wielding an assault rifle, and yet so comfortable at the same time. The way he had just _shot_ the gangster had been so quick, almost casual in execution. There was no denying that he was trained in the way he handled himself, but none of this made sense. Why was he here? How did he know?

Shaw, perhaps sensing Sam’s rising panic, was already approaching her, hands raised and muzzle down. “Sam, Sam, it's fine, it’s just me, I’m with the CIA, we’re here to —”

Shaw didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence before Sam punched him in the face.

Granted, Sam hadn’t meant to, but as soon as she heard the phrase ‘CIA’, she thought instantly of Alex’s warning the other day. Thus, she reacted on instinct, delivering a blow that Shaw certainly hadn’t expected from someone he was apparently trying to save.

“Ow!” Shaw recoiled, rubbing his jaw. The punch barely shook him, although there was a mark on his cheek where her ring had cut him. He stepped back, just out of striking range. “Jesus, Sam, relax! I’m not here to —”

The sound of screeching brakes behind interrupted him. Sam whirled around to see one of the Triad’s black cars come to a stop on the road a few feet away. It was unharmed, perhaps one of the ones in the back of the escort line. Shaw reacted immediately, bringing up his gun just as the door opened, prepared to fire in case more hostile emerged from the vehicle.

But he paused when instead of Triad, the head of a blond boy popped out the door. “Sam, get in!”

She didn’t need to be told twice.

Shaw hesitated for too long. Sam surged past him, ducking past Shaw and the front end of the truck. The time it took to drop his gun again, to free a hand in order to snatch at Sam, she had already slipped away. His fingers only caught the end of her sleeve, which she easily shrugged off. “Shit! Sam, wait!”

Sam threw herself into the door of Alex’s commandeered vehicle, tucked in her legs just as he hit the gas pedal. The door shut automatically, thrown by the force of acceleration. Sam was nearly flattened in her seat as they took off.

Alex jerked the wheel, and they skidded past the rest of the fire fight and destruction — and the two other agents from the helicopter. A blonde woman and another man.

The two turned just in time for Sam to see their faces as the car passed.

Sam’s heart dropped into her stomach when she recognized them, too.

Sarah Walker and Chuck Bartowski.

Their shocked faces flashed by. Sam’s eyes flicked up to watch them grow smaller in the rear view mirror. Alex didn’t seem to notice them at all, his gaze on the road, hand on the gearshift.

The engine roared as they picked up speed. The wide-open road stretched out before them, danger left in the dust.

But Sam didn’t feel safe.

Not when her cousin worked for the CIA.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Save an author, leave a comment :)


	22. Chuck vs The Sixth Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess this story still has a bit of steam left. I hate to leave unfinished fics, so I'll try to get this one finished before the year's out. Thirty chapters seems a pretty good length…

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Two  
**

**Chuck vs The Sixth Man**

* * *

"Does anyone want to explain to me what the hell just happened?"

Casey was looking seriously pissed, which was pretty bad, since he looked pissed all the time to begin with. But Chuck was too beside himself to care. He'd just witnessed Sam, his cousin, jump in the car with the same Rider kid they were chasing. They knew each other's names. Honestly, he was just as confused as Casey.

"Not sure," Shaw said, screwing up his lips as he paced behind the line of cuffed Triad gangmembers. They had gathered up the survivors, used up all their zipties, and lined them up along the side of the road for pick-up. A CIA convoy was already on the way from Vegas. "Sam freaked when she saw me. Laid a pretty solid hit before getting away."

Chuck noted the purple bruise growing across Shaw's face. The indent the ring had left. He looked about seven percent less handsome than usual, and Chuck tried not to look too pleased. He liked to think Sam did that on behalf of the Bartowskis, even though it wasn't true (still, it made him feel better).

"I think the more important question is what she was doing with Alex Rider," Sarah said, nudging one triad with her foot. He was barely-conscious, blood seeping from a gunshot wound in his shoulder, marring the impressive dragon tattoo that covered his entire arm and back. Chuck wasn't sure who'd hit him; must have happened in the recent firefight.

"He's from San Francisco, right?" Chuck asked, glancing about the team. "Maybe Sam ended up there…"

"And by pure coincidence ran into the only retired teenage MI6 spy in the entire United States?" Casey demanded skeptically.

Chuck could only shrug helplessly.

"The director will not be pleased," Shaw stated, again with that even, too-chill tone. It was starting to grate on Chuck's nerves. Did _anything_ get under this guy's skin? "But maybe we can get something useful out of these guys before we head off again. Do any of you guys happen to know where he's going? Anyone? No? Not even going to tell me who's in charge here?"

The six Triad men remained silent.

Shaw sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. "Well, we'll get it out of them eventually. But I think it'll be too late by then. Rider's a loose cannon, he'll never stay in one place for long now that he knows both Triad and CIA are on his tail. We'll be lucky if we ever get this close to him again."

Chuck scanned the faces of the Triad men. Most of them were so beat-up and bloody that he was having a hard time making out distinctive faces. Not even the Intersect could make them out.

"I wonder what she's thinking right now," Chuck muttered to himself, frowning. When he first learned Sarah and Casey's true identities, he'd nearly lost his mind. Which was pretty incredible, since by that point the Intersect had already been downloaded into his head and its constant Flashes were making him crazy already. Sam was a bit more fortunate in that aspect, but he didn't envy her in the least. "Sam saw my face. She saw _our_ faces."

Sarah threw him a sympathetic look. "It's going to be okay, Chuck. When we find her again, we can debrief her. She'll understand."

Chuck wasn't so sure about that.

The day was hot and getting hotter by the moment. The sun bore down on them, relentless. Chuck wiped sweat off his brow. His hair was starting to stick to the back of his neck. He was already missing the air-conditioned Castle. But it felt wrong to leave now. "They can't have gotten that far, right? I mean, we can still go after them."

"Depends," Shaw replied. "If Beckman allows it, we'll continue the chase. If not, well, I suppose we have to trust your aunt trained Sam well enough to survive on her own."

That was not an answer Chuck liked, but it was a possible outcome to all of this. Beckman wasn't the most sentimental of women, and if she thought Sam could take care of herself, she may decide the little Bartowski to be lower on the list of priorities.

Sam was just a kid, though. Sure, she and Alex Rider were of similar ages, and that kid had a record longer than Chuck's, but that didn't mean it was okay.

And the chances of convinced Beckman otherwise were slim.

Chuck paced back and forth nervously. He was a nervous pacer, he couldn't help it. He just hated feeling this helpless.

"If it's any consolation, they're heading south-east," Casey told him. The gruff tone was about as close Casey was ever going to get to being nice. "Which means they'll run by Hoover Dam. If they're smart, they'll stop there for rest. By my estimate, Rider's heading south to the border. Once he's in Mexico, he'll try to vanish completely."

"You think he can do it?" Chuck asked, eyebrows rising uncertainly.

Casey just gave a noncommittal shrug. "Kid's done crazier shit. He knows the language, at least. Depending on what happens next, he may get pretty far before we pick up the trail again."

It was another hour until the line of black trucks appeared on the horizon. First as black wavering dots in the distance, then a fleet of them rumbling down the road in uniform lines. It was probably more than they needed, but as Chuck looked around, he winced at the damage that they had left behind. Nearly a half a dozen wrecked cars, more dead bodies...certainly nothing they could leave behind, in case one random civilian happened to come across it by chance.

One by one, a team of CIA clean-up guys pulled the Triad gangsters and threw them into the back of the vans. Kept them decently separated so they wouldn't gang up on a single bus. The four special agents supervised, keeping an eye out for further enemies.

"Wait," Sarah called, frowning as the last Triad was put away and all the doors slammed shut. "I only counted five. Where's the sixth man?"

"What?" Shaw frowned.

"We caught six of them, but we only have five! Where'd the other one go?" Sarah demanded, suddenly galvanized. She rushed around the back of the bus, scanning the wreckage. But none of the bodies moved.

Chuck followed her, wanting to kick himself. He hadn't been paying attention, he wasn't even sure which one of the Triad had slipped past notice. How? There were ten CIA agents here, how could he have gotten away?

Dread filled his stomach. It couldn't possibly be…

Casey and Shaw had also fanned out, scanning the surrounding desert for any sign of an escapee. But it was all flat, dry land. They would've spotted him right away.

Chuck spun around, his hands clenching around his weapon. Not good, not good…

Behind him, a laugh. Chuck whirled around, raised his gun just as a door slammed and an engine revved.

One of the black cars, filled with bullet holes and missing a bumper, blared to life. Its tires spit out dirt as the man behind the wheel — the one with the shoulder wound, the dragon tattoo — grinned viciously and slammed on the gas.

Chuck barely had time to throw himself away. His first bullet went wide. His second landed in the back bumper as the car sped past, joining the hundreds of other holes left in the black exterior.

As the car screeched off, its license plate whipped loosely, before snapping off. It shot in the air like a ballistic frisbee, before coming to land at Chuck's feet.

Shaw, Casey, and Sarah rushed to the scene, seconds too late. Chuck picked himself up, groaning. He'd landed hard on his elbows and had seriously bruised one side of his ribcage. Looking down, he read the license plate. And Flashed.

_LCKYDRGN_

The Bearded Dragon. His favorite car. Uncommonly sly, wily, known to escape impossible situations by the skin of his teeth. Had a taste for small blades, liked to leave his victims resembling a carved up turkey.

And now he knew where Alex and Sam were going.

"Shit." Casey said.


End file.
